The Lab Experiment
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. When John Bates agrees to take care of Isis whilst his best friend is away, he doesn't expect his world to collide—quite literally—with Anna Smith. Cover image by annambates.
1. I

**A/N:** Back at the end of July last year, **lemacd** gave me an egg, and I hatched it into a monster. She asked me if I would be interested in writing a fic, which I agreed to in a heartbeat because the concept captured my imagination. I am just the vessel; I have changed a few little things, but lemacd is to be credited with the whole idea. I really, really hope that I have done this justice for you, lemacd, and of course I hope everyone else enjoys it too.

This is another 'oneshot' but I have split it up in two parts. The final 'part' will arrive on Valentine's Day.

Also, huge thanks to **annambates** who has been unfailingly enthusiastic and a real cheerleader to get me through the whole thing! I really, really appreciate your support. :)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_. All credit for the idea goes to **lemacd**.

* * *

 _The Lab Experiment_

John ought to have been suspicious when Robert called round at his house with an overly-complicit grin on his face and an unshakable insistence that he wanted to treat his best friend to lunch.

"You've been chained to that desk for far too long," he said. "Come on, old chap, shake off those cobwebs and let me take you somewhere fancy, as a treat."

John already wasn't in the best of moods, and the added interruption was doing little to placate him. He had the first stirrings of a headache at his temples, he was still wearing the boxers and t-shirt that he had gone to bed in the previous evening, and he was itching for a cigarette.

"Now's not a good time," he told his friend.

"Nonsense," Robert said cheerfully. "There's never a bad time for food."

"I'm trying to work."

"You can do that any old time. You string a few words together and hit 'save'."

John thought of the tiny room that he ironically called his study, with the plethora of scrunched up, discarded papers filled with useless words that he would never let the world see. He'd bloody well like to see Robert try to write something of merit. His idea of a classic was a hastily scribbled, perfunctory grovelling note when he did something that landed him in Cora's bad books. John suspected that it was his pathetic puppy dog eyes rather than the words that made Cora melt. His friend just had one of those faces.

"Come on, chop, chop," Robert said, pushing him over the threshold. "You go and get showered, spruce yourself up a bit, and then we can go. You can have whatever your heart desires."

"The last time I had what my heart desired I ended up married to Vera, and look how that turned out," John grumbled, his heart sinking as Robert bustled into his cramped front room and promptly made himself at home on the chintzy sofa.

"Yes, you do have terrible taste," Robert agreed. "But you saw the error of your ways eventually. And now you're writing a new chapter, so to speak. Though I have the feeling that I'll be seeing an incarnation of her on the bookshelves one day."

He was probably right there, gallingly. Every vile character he conjured up had Vera's face and voice. Though he ought to be careful when treading that path—the last thing he wanted was a lawsuit against him for defamation of character, however justified it might be in his eyes.

But, hell, that was a worry for another day. He was being bloody optimistic if he ever thought he was going to be The Next Big Thing. Knowing that he was defeated now that Robert had settled himself in, he shook his head.

"Give me half an hour," he muttered.

"Excellent," said Robert, and turned on some antiques show.

Resigned to his fate, John set about showering and shaving. Once he'd done that, he selected a clean shirt and a pair of trousers, experience telling him that Robert's idea of a cosy, homely dining experience was a normal person's idea of five star Michelin service.

Robert beamed when he dragged himself back into the room. "There you are. Shall we go?"

There was no more staving off the inevitable. With a curt nod, he followed Robert out of the house to where he had parked his top-of-the-range Audi.

The journey across town was made largely in silence, the radio breaking any tension that might have been growing between them. At last they reached _The Silver Spoon_ , Robert's regular. Its eye-watering prices usually had John avoiding it like the plague, and he didn't much like it when Robert insisted they go here, either, for it meant that he'd be living beyond his reach or relying on his friend for charity, two things that he despised. But he wasn't in the mood for another argument, so he simply followed his friend inside.

The waiter showed them to Robert's usual table, brought them menus, then left them to peruse them for a few minutes after taking orders for drinks.

"Order what you want, my good man," Robert said. "It's all on me today."

That did not reassure John in the slightest. He rifled through the pages, trying desperately to find the cheapest thing on the menu. Nothing was under twenty-five pounds. He would have been a lot happier with a coffee and a piece of cake. The waiter returned with their drinks—a fancy glass of wine for Robert, and a water for John—and asked them what they were having. Feeling ill, John rattled off his order and sat back in his chair, studying his friend.

"All right, out with it," he said.

"What?" Robert said innocently.

"Don't act coy with me, Rob. You're taking me out to dinner. You never do that unless you want something from me."

"I take Cora out to dinner when I want something from her," he corrected him with a grin, and John rolled his eyes.

"But there's something you want to ask me, I can tell. So you might as well spit it out now. Dragging it out any longer won't do either of us any good. I hate being kept in suspense."

"Ironic, for a person who makes a living out of keeping people in suspense."

"It's not a living yet," John said heavily.

"But it will be one day, Bates. Anyway, I haven't brought you here to enjoy your witty repartee. If I wanted some of that, I'd visit Mama. I've brought _you_ here to ask you a favour."

"Surprise, surprise," said John. The last time Robert had asked him for a favour, he'd ended up in the Accident and Emergency room. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.

Robert ignored his sarcasm, swilling the wine absent-mindedly around in his glass. "As you know, Cora and I celebrated our wedding anniversary in February."

"So you did," said John, remembering. "How many years is it now?"

"Twenty-five," said Robert proudly. "The big silver anniversary."

Christ, twenty-five years. John couldn't fathom how anyone made marriages last that long. He had barely made it through two with Vera before things had started to sour. By five, they were only interacting when they were arguing or having sex that bordered on the painful. It had been the most draining, depressing time in John's life. When the marriage had finally broken down entirely, it had been almost a relief to escape to his mother's. The divorce had been long and bitter, dragging on for half as long again, and he had come out of it a lot poorer than he had gone in. He had hated giving her the house, but Vera was vicious and unable to compromise, and in the end, out of desperation to move on, he had agreed to it.

But he doubted that he would ever be able to truly move on. The cancerous marriage haunted him still, every day, and he was damaged goods now. And he wouldn't put it past Vera stalking him wherever he went, making any other woman's life hell. No, he had had his chance, and it had passed him by. He was resolved to spending the rest of his life as a bachelor.

And probably a monk, too.

"Well, congratulations," he said now, shaking off the deadly cobwebs of the past. "That is a wonderful milestone. And one I am most envious of."

"Thank you," said Robert. "But you see, the thing is, I'd quite like to take Cora away for a couple of weeks. We couldn't go in February because her mother was ill and she had to go back to Newport. Now seems the perfect time to go, what with the weather getting warmer. I was thinking of Italy. We honeymooned there. This could be like a second honeymoon. And if we relived everything we encountered there, I'd be a very lucky man, if you catch my drift." He winked.

"Revoltingly so," said John.

Robert wasn't fazed. "But if I do that, I'll need someone to look after Isis."

John, who had been in the middle of taking a swig of water, promptly choked. Without batting an eyelid, Robert reached across the table and thumped him on the back.

When the coughing had subsided enough, John croaked, "Please tell me that you're not implying what I think you're implying."

"I need you to look after Isis for me."

"No. Absolutely not."

"You have to. I can't leave her on her own."

"Kennels exist, you know. Put her in one of those for the week."

"Out of the question. I am not putting Isis in a place with lots of strange dogs. She'll think I've abandoned her. She has to stay with someone she knows. It'll keep her more relaxed."

"Your daughters, then. You have three."

"Mary wouldn't have Isis in the flat. She likes her, but she wouldn't give her any of the care that she needs. Edith works too many long hours down in London at that newspaper. And Sybil is off travelling at the moment."

"What about your mother? Or Rosamund?"

"Mama likes cats, not dogs. And Rosamund wouldn't know the first thing about dogs."

" _I_ don't know the first thing about dogs."

"Yes, but you know I trust you with my life. And I trust you with my dog's. I know you'll look after her."

"Rob, I don't have _time_ to look after a dog. I've got my work."

"Yes, but it's the perfect job! You're home ninety-nine percent of the day, so she won't be left alone for long periods of time. You just need to walk her twice a day and give her her food. She's as happy as Larry if she's kept fed and warm."

John indicated the cane that he had hooked over the back of his chair. "Dogs also need a lot of playtime and _long_ walks. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the same strength that I used to have."

"As if I could ever forget the reason why. But Isis is a gentle thing, she'd never give you any rough-and-tumble. She's a good girl."

John had also witnessed Isis when she was excited. She had never quite outgrown her enthusiastic puppy tendencies, and the moment that anything the remotest bit interesting occurred, she was as untameable as a wild animal.

"I'm sorry, it's just not feasible," he said firmly. "You're going to have to call on someone else this time."

"But don't you see? It's the perfect way to get to know people!"

"How do you make that out?" said John.

"Oh, come on, people love to talk to owners with cute dogs. Dogs bring people together. You can make small talk and get to know the people around these parts. That way you won't have to rely on me for your social interaction."

"I don't do small talk," said John. "And I don't need social interaction. I'm very happy making polite conversation where I need to and bidding people goodbye at the end of it."

He could tell that Robert was grasping at straws now. "Well, there's Downton Park. Downton Park is the absolute place to be."

John arched his eyebrow. "Downton Park? Mate, that's a no-go. It's on the other side of town."

"Well, you couldn't take her to that pathetic patch of grass at the edge of your road! That has no business being called a park."

"You can't be serious. If I agreed to this—which I'm not—then I wouldn't be taking her all the way to Downton Park for a bloody walk. It's a walk in itself just getting there."

"You can't take her anywhere else. I've got a list of Dos and Don'ts drawn up at home. And that is an absolute no-no. Downton Park has the room for her to run around, the grass is nicer, and she likes the duck pond. Besides, there would be something in it for you as well."

At that moment, the waiter returned with their meals, and Robert stopped talking. John waited until he'd gone before picking the thread back up. Stabbing a potato moodily, he said, "What's that, then?"

"All the runners use Downton Park because it's the biggest and most accessible," said Robert knowledgably.

"And that benefits me how? My running days are long behind me." He tapped his cane sardonically. "This makes sure of that."

Robert tutted, gathering up his own forkful of food. "Not _you_ , you idiot. I mean for the other runners. Specifically the _women_ who go running in that park."

"I've sworn off women. That's not going to tempt me."

Robert scoffed. "You're not a bloody monk, so don't pretend you are. You say you're staying celibate now, but just you wait until you're a year down the line."

John didn't think it was worth pointing out that he was almost two and a half years into his self-imposed celibacy.

Robert's eyes had misted slightly. "Honestly, it's the park for runners. All those women in tight lycra, leaving nothing to the imagination, breasts bouncing in their sports bras…"

John coughed, and he seemed to come back to himself, clearing his throat guiltily.

"You're a married man, mate," John said, reaching across the table for the salt.

Robert scowled at him. "I haven't forgotten that. But there's no harm in looking."

"You're looking a bit too closely, if you ask me."

"That's beside the point. The point I _am_ trying to make is that I'm doing you a massive favour. It'd be the perfect excuse for you to go down there and scout out the local lovelies. And if one catches your eye, bingo. Isis will be the perfect chick magnet. She'll come over to admire her, and I'm sure with a brain like yours you can formulate some conversation with her to feel out if she's interested. Which she will be, because nothing attracts women like men who are loving with animals."

"There will be no danger there. No one in their right mind would be interested in me." His best years were long behind him. He had been reasonably good looking as a youth, he supposed he could admit to that. But the years since the bullet that had ripped into his kneecap hadn't been kind to him. The pounds had piled on. The drinking had made him an old man, and the smoking hadn't helped, either.

"Don't sell yourself short," said Robert. "I know plenty of divorcees who would be interested in you. Maybe not for the long term, but what does that matter? Sometimes something casual is just the ticket to ease you back into the dating world."

Sleeping with someone and then never seeing them again wasn't exactly John's cup of tea. He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and pushed his plate away. "Look, I know you're trying to be helpful, but it isn't working. And I'm sorry, but I just can't take Isis on. You're going to have to find someone else."

Robert fixed him with huge, puppy-dog eyes. "Please, John. _Please_. You are like a brother to me. I entrusted you as godfather to Sybil. My very life has been in your hands, and you've never let me down. There's simply no one else for Isis. Please, do this for me out of the goodness of your heart. You would be making me a very happy man, and I promise that if there ever comes a time when you need me to do something for you, I'll do it for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked."

"I'm really not going to see a way around this, am I?" John huffed. " _Fine_. I'll take your bloody mutt for the week. But you really will owe me bigtime after this. I won't let you forget it."

A huge grin stretched across Robert's face, almost from ear to ear. "Thank you, Bates. I'm very grateful. But Isis is not a mutt, thank you very much. She is one hundred percent, certified, purebred Labrador, and don't you go making that mistake again. And a dog as highly prized as her has all of the most luxurious things. I'll make sure you have plenty of everything you need, but you should feed her some of the best chicken cuts at precisely half-past seven in the morning…"

As John listened to Robert harp on with a growing sense of horror, he wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life by caving in to his friend's demands.

* * *

When her alarm clock sounded at six in the morning, Anna was very close to simply slamming it off and rolling over. The very last thing she wanted to do on a morning like this was head outside before she had to.

But she had promised Ethel, and she hated backing down on a promise. Mary would call her stupid for taking that attitude, especially over a matter so trivial, but she hated letting people down when she had told them that she'd do something.

Still, it wasn't without a great deal of cursing under her breath that she shuffled out of bed. The one consolation about getting up at the crack of dawn in the spring meant that it wouldn't be too long before the sun started to rise, making it the slightest bit easier to get up and start her day. Yawning widely, Anna crept around her room, slipping on her running gear and tying her hair back in a messy ponytail. Once she'd finished her run, she'd head back home, hop in the shower, scarf down some breakfast and hurry to work for another hectic shift at the local hospital. It would be a very long time before she got the chance to relax again.

She could hear heavy, even breathing coming from Mary's room as she tiptoed past the door. God, how lucky her best friend and roommate was. Her alarm wouldn't be set until seven thirty at the earliest. Being the owner of her own fashion brand gave her the freedom to come and go as she pleased whilst other people made money for her. Anna envied her luxury of getting up when she wanted. She'd give anything to be able to wake up natural every morning.

There was no point in dwelling on that now. Still wiping sleep from her eyes, Anna unlocked the door and headed out.

The weather was cool for a morning in April, and the sharp breeze helped to bring a little more life into her mind. Shivering slightly, she increased her pace, walking as quickly as she could in the direction of her friend Ethel's house. Ethel lived across town, in a row of terraced houses near the small industrial estate. As a single mother with a young child it was all she could afford, though she often bemoaned it, desiring much grander things. It hadn't been her plan to fall pregnant with an army man's baby, especially when said army man up and left her without a single penny of child support, to be killed a year after the baby's birthday, leaving little Charlie with no chance of ever getting to know his father. Anna thought Ethel had been brave naming her son after such a despicable man in the first place. As far as she was concerned, Charles Bryant hadn't been worthy of the honour.

Something had come out of the tragedy of his death, however: little Charlie now had a relationship with his grandparents. Ethel didn't get on with the grandfather, who sounded like a snob and a bully to Anna, but she said that Mrs. Bryant was always kinder to her, and they both loved Charlie, which was all that really mattered. He often stayed over one night a week to give Ethel a bit of freedom to have her own social life, which she took full advantage of.

The rest of the time, she made the best of what she had. Right now, she had a part-time job cleaning, starting at seven-thirty. She had dropped lucky on a childminder who lived on the same street who was willing to take Charlie from six-thirty. This hadn't been necessary before last month, Ethel had told her, but since she had incorporated running into her schedule, it had become a lifeline.

Ethel was waiting for her on the street corner when she finally reached her destination, bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet.

"Come on!" she said. "You're late. We're going to have to do a few less laps today."

Hardly a tragedy, in Anna's opinion. "You could always go after work on your own, you know, before you pick up Charlie."

"I don't like going on my own. I like to have the company."

"I don't see how we're much company to each other when all we can do is pant for breath."

They set off in the direction of the park, Anna already resigned to another unpleasant half hour. She had never much enjoyed sports in school, and cursed herself again for allowing herself to be roped into this. It was the bane of her profession. As soon as anyone knew she was a nurse, all they ever wanted to talk about were health benefits and the horrible diseases they were all sure they had. Unfortunately, Ethel was no different. Her newest fixation was that she was certain that exercise increased sexual libido. Which, Ethel said, was vital for when she finally got back in the race. Never mind the fact that this 'scientific' titbit had been picked up in a stupid article in a women's gossip magazine and held no bearing on actual, _proper_ research. Ethel was determined to believe it, and nothing Anna could say would make her think differently.

With Ethel, nearly everything came back to sex. But it was impossible to argue with her. If she even tried, Ethel would fix her with a pitying glance and say, _"You're only protesting because it's been so bloody long since you last got some, Anna. Seriously, if there's anyone who needs a good, long ravishing, it's you. And you'll be thanking me for making you do this when that day arrives because you'll be able to go at it for hours, like the Duracell Bunny."_

They paused at the park's entrance to stretch their muscles and warm up. Ethel was already peering through the gates, distracted, no doubt searching for any sign of fit, fresh meat. There _were_ lots of handsome men who loped through the park like lions, all flexing muscles and flaxen hair, but sweating like a pig and decidedly out of breath, Anna had never felt less sexy than in these moments. Her friends were constantly harrying her about dipping her toes in the water again after the disastrous end to her last relationship, but Anna was quite certain of one thing: she wasn't about to find her life partner in a bloody _park_.

But there was nothing else for it. Sighing to herself, Anna followed her friend through the park's gates and set up a moderate pace, longing for the moment when this would all be over for another day.

* * *

John was woken quite abruptly with something cold and wet against the side of his face. For a moment it disorientated him, and he flailed in his bedsheets, trying to escape the strange sensation.

It was accompanied by heavy panting, and everything flooded back to him.

"Bloody hell, Isis, get off!" he growled when he realised that the offending cold thing was the dog's nose. How had she even got in? He was sure he'd shut the door firmly on her when he'd gone to bed.

It was even more unfortunate that this whole thing hadn't been a bad dream. It had certainly felt that way when Robert had dropped Isis off the evening before, along with what had to be a month's supply of dog food, endless toys and treats, and the longest list that John had ever seen. Just reading it had made his head hurt. There were so many rules that it was a mystery to him how Robert remembered them all. He was scatty at the best of times. Then again, when it came to his dogs, Robert was a different man.

Now, Isis lolled her tongue out of her mouth and thumped her tail on the bedroom floor. John's gaze wandered over to the clock on his bedside table, and he swore aloud.

"You've woken me up at _six_?" he said to the dog. He had always been an early riser, but that was taking it too far. If he was getting up, he wanted it to be on his own terms, not on a bloody _dog's_.

Isis paid him no mind, reaching up on her haunches to prop her front paws against his mattress, as if she was preparing herself to leap up. No, that was simply out of the question. He wouldn't have his bedsheets smelling like dog.

Still swearing, he swung himself out of bed, rubbing at his knee as he planted his feet on the floor. Sensing her victory, Isis let out a happy yelp and clattered from the room, evidently confident that he would follow behind her. He took a moment to let the pain ebb from his knee before pushing himself in to an upright position, limping out after the dog. She was a clever thing, there was no doubt about it; she had found her lead amongst the multitude of things that Robert had brought over and was sitting with it in her mouth, eyes huge and beseeching as she looked up at him.

"Okay, I'll walk you," he grumbled. "Just let me get changed first, all right? I'm not walking anyone in my bloody pyjamas." They had seen better days, threadbare as they were. He kept meaning to buy new ones, but shopping for clothes was very low on his list of things to do, and most of the time he forgot when he was trying to create something worthy of reading. Hell, he forgot to eat sometimes; he could hardly be expected to go out there shopping.

Heading back to the bedroom, he grabbed for a pair of jeans and the pullover he had worn the previous day. No sense in wearing something clean if he hadn't had a shower yet. He combed his hair back so that it didn't look quite as bad, then hurried to the bathroom to clean his teeth. Satisfied that it was going to get no better than this, he grabbed his coat from the peg by the door and paused. Hadn't there been some walking rules in that godawful list that Robert had left for him? He was half-tempted to just ignore them, but if Robert ever found out then he was sure to be dead meat. No one could match the love between man and dog, and Robert worshipped Isis. More than he worshipped Cora, John often suspected. Reluctantly, he limped to the kitchen and found the rules where he had left them, used as a coaster for his glass of Coke the previous evening. He picked them up and scoured them.

Ah, yes. There it was. In his meticulous handwriting, Robert had written, _Isis must be taken on an hour long's walk every morning. Downton Park is the_ _only_ _place she can go. You can let her off her lead but only if there aren't many other dogs around as she can get excitable. If it's safe to let her off the lead, play ball with her. It will help to run off some excess energy. Under no circumstances should you let her off her lead near the duck pond. She likes to chase the poor devils._

Well, that wasn't so bad. It could have been worse. Still, an hour's walk? It was a good thing Isis had woken him up early. It would have been a bloody nightmare trying to take her later when he needed to sit down and work. That was if she would let him. He had yet to see how much attention she wanted throughout the day. If it was a lot, he'd bloody well charge Robert for every working hour he lost.

Satisfied that there was nothing else he needed, John headed back to the hallway, grabbing Isis' lead from her mouth and clipping it on to her collar.

"All right," he muttered. "Let's get this over and done with."

If Isis noted his less-than-friendly tone, she did not react to it, immediately straining at her leash as he opened the door and the cool morning breeze hit them. It was a struggle to get her to sit still long enough for him to lock the door behind him, and once that was accomplished they set off together. John clutched the lead as tightly as he could in his left fist as she trotted along. She wanted to go faster than his knee would allow, and the last thing he needed was letting her slip through his fingers. Robert would murder him if anything happened to her.

As well as being full of energy, she was a nightmare in other ways. She zigzagged around him like a puppy, keen to explore every new sight and sound and smell from this unfamiliar part of town, and John found himself swearing far too often as she stopped by every lamppost going to debate whether she needed to put her scent down. He tugged uselessly on the lead and tried in vain to call her to heel, but she was either badly trained, wilful, or only responded to her master. John suspected that all three elements worked badly together, and so it took him almost half an hour to reach the park.

Once there, Isis led him through the gate and veered off to her left. John let her get on with it. She obviously knew the park well, and would doubtless lead him to her favourite spots. That was fine by him. He was in no mood for any more adventures today. He followed her, keeping his hold on her lead sure as he scanned the vicinity for other dogs. There were several, of all shapes and sizes, being hurried along by harassed looking owners who were no doubt keeping one eye on the time.

Robert hadn't been lying when he said that this was a park for runners. Plenty of dedicated fitness buffs had woken up bright and early to fit a jog in before work, and John noted them idly as he limped across the dewy grass with Isis bounding to and fro. Seeing the men, dressed in running gear so tight that they were practically bursting out of it, made him lament his situation even more. He had never had that kind of fitness level before the injury that had changed his life for good, but he hadn't been too bad back then. The army routines had kept him in shape, his bulk more to do with muscle than fat. Unfortunately, the reverse was true now.

Not that he had ever preened in the way that these pricks were now.

"Look at that berk," he muttered to Isis, who took not one bit of notice as she rolled around in the grass. He bent down to her level with a groan, pretending to focus on fussing her while he glanced at the bloke out of the corner of his eye. He was perhaps mid-thirties, TV-star attractive, no jacket in sight, t-shirt so thin it was practically see-through and clinging to an eight pack, never mind a six-pack, shorts so small they looked more like y-fronts. He had caught the interest of several women who eyed him up with interest as they passed, and he made a show of stretching out to show off his assets. One woman even stopped running to chat to him. John could hear her throaty laughter from here while the bloke flexed his muscles, not quite managing to be blasé. Not that the woman seemed to notice: she toyed with a stray strand of her fiery ginger hair and straightened her own back to thrust her chest forward. John hastily averted his eyes, shaking his head.

"How does that even work?" he said to Isis. Even when he'd been young and eager he hadn't been so stupid. Although he supposed that was debatable. After all, he'd had his head turned by Vera, and more fool him for that. He took some consolation in the fact that the ginger woman's friend, a petite blonde, seemed to be uncomfortable with the whole situation. She was apparently the only woman in the vicinity not falling under Pretty Boy's charms. John watched out of the corner of his eye as she tugged on her friend's arm and said something to her. The redhead didn't seem pleased by what she had to say, but after a few more minutes she allowed the blonde to drag her away, casting a longing look over her shoulder as she went. Pretty Boy flexed his muscles a final time for her benefit. Quite what Robert enjoyed here was a little bit beyond him. Yes, all right, he could accept that the women were beautiful. What man wouldn't enjoy the view? But the whole thing still made him highly uneasy, and contrary to what his friend seemed to believe, he had absolutely no chance of attracting any woman's attention. No one would look twice in his direction when faced with the dazzling good looks and washboard abs of the male runners.

Which was exactly what he wanted. He had no time for love and romance, not with his past. And it would be most satisfying to let Robert know that he was completely wrong. As was usually the case where Robert was concerned.

Bit by bit, the early morning runners drifted away, no doubt heading home to start their days. John meandered a while longer with Isis, enjoying the increasing solitude of the park. Now _this_ was the ideal time to come. In peaceful moments like these, he could even find the inspiration to write. There was a certain kind of beauty about the park.

Although, he acknowledged ten minutes later, that did not extend to picking up Isis' ruddy excrement.

* * *

Anna groaned to herself as she and Ethel entered the park together, but Ethel gave a jubilant little squeal under her breath. For the last two days, the man she had been flirting with had been waiting for them to arrive, and here he was again. He gave a slimy smile that seemed to get Ethel's heart racing and came over to them.

"What a coincidence!" he said, as if he hadn't been standing by the gates waiting for them. "It's so nice to see you again!"

Ethel fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You too, Rory."

God, it was getting bad if they were on first name terms. They hadn't exchanged names in their last meeting—the idiot kept calling her 'Blondie', as if he thought he was cute—so that had to mean that they'd either exchanged names when she had had to run off early to answer a crisis from Mary, or, worse, that they'd exchanged phone numbers and had had further conversations from there. God, Anna hoped it was the former. At least there was a chance of damage limitation there.

They set off running together, Anna purposefully lagging behind the other two. She had no wish to play the third wheel. Ethel and Rory didn't notice a thing, more interested in checking each other out. This was very dangerous indeed. Rory was exactly the type of man that Ethel usually went for. He was young and hot. It was not easy to miss the rippling muscles beneath the tight white shirt, nor the ropey leg muscles. Anna was not immune to good looking men. She could appreciate them when she saw them, much as a photographer might admire a breath-taking landscape. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten they were all style and no substance. She could see that Rory was just the same. He didn't seem to want to talk about anything other than himself, and derived great joy from touting his own accomplishments. Unfortunately, Ethel seemed to be well and truly under his spell. It could only end in disaster.

Which was something that Ethel would have to figure out for herself. If Anna tried to warn her, she'd only tell her that she was jealous.

Everything always had to come back to her own woeful love life.

So Anna kept her mouth shut, following silently behind the other two, trying to block out their flirting. At this time in the morning, the park was almost empty. Distantly, she could hear the ducks quacking. There were a few dog walkers around. One little terrier wouldn't stop yapping. A yellow Lab was straining at the lead not too far away. It looked like its owner was having a little trouble restraining it. No wonder, really—the Lab looked like a strong, exuberant thing, and its owner less so, a cane in his right hand. She could hear his muffled voice, no doubt trying to call the dog to heel, but it wasn't listening. She hoped that the dog wouldn't accidentally pull him over or anything. She'd hate to see the man get hurt, but she didn't really have the time this morning to be performing first aid, not when she had to get to work herself.

"You've got really shapely legs, you know," she heard Rory saying. "The running's doing wonders for you, babe."

On second thoughts, she'd rather take the first aid. At this rate she'd need someone to perform first aid on _her_ , for an adverse reaction to all these third-rate compliments. Running had been bad enough before. Now, it was worse than ever.

* * *

Bit by bit, John and Isis fell into a routine. She woke him every morning at six on the dot. He took her for a walk in Downton Park, then returned to his flat to give her her breakfast. After that, she slunk off to her bed for a snooze and he would set to work. Later in the day she'd come for some attention, and he'd sit with her head on his lap as he finished up his writing, before he headed out for the second walk of the day. Tea time followed, and after that, despite his best efforts, she'd hop up on the sofa beside him and thump her tail against the seat. It was annoying—he didn't really want a great, slobbering dog getting hair everywhere—but he didn't have the heart to stop her, either.

Every morning, he found his eyes wandering around the park as he walked with Isis, cataloguing the regulars. He took note of the same runners, who whizzed past him as if their very lives depended on it. He tried to avoid the same yapping terrier every day because Isis growled and tried to pull at the leash to get to it.

For some reason, the people who drew his eyes more than anything were the two young female runners he had noticed on his very first trip to the park. Why, he couldn't say. Something about them intrigued him. These days they were always accompanied by Pretty Boy, making up a little trio. But he could tell that the blonde woman wasn't thrilled by these developments. From a young age he had always been able to read people well, and this had only been enhanced by his love of the fictional world. Inspiration could come from anywhere—a line of snatched conversation heard as he walked by, a beautiful view, an exotic taste—and there was something about them that kept drawing his eye and making him wonder.

Sometimes, he could acknowledge that it was dangerous to wonder. He'd been intrigued by Vera when he'd first met her. That had only led him to disaster. But it was a writer's bane as well as a writer's strength, he thought as his gaze strayed over to them, lingering on the blonde woman's unhappy figure.

And, he consoled himself, that was all it was. Just wondering. No harm could ever come of looking from afar. He was safe.

* * *

The alarm sounded at six. Anna still had another two gruelling shifts to go before she would be afforded a glorious day off, and this morning she longed to hit the snooze button on her alarm, bury her head under the pillow, and sleep until the very last moment. Unfortunately, she had yet another morning run with Ethel to squeeze in before she had to get ready for work. Ever since striking up conversation with Rory, Ethel had become even more overzealous in her desire to fit in a morning run. To bail on her would be to incite World War Three.

"It's the only time of the day that I can just talk to him!" she'd said only yesterday. "Sometimes a woman needs to feel like she's more than just a single mum. Rory is helping with that."

He was certainly eager to stroke her ego, but Anna suspected that that had less to do with him genuinely thinking that Ethel was a wonderful person who deserved to be treated like a queen and more to do with the fact that he thought she would be an easy target.

But it wasn't her place to get involved. She just wished she could get out of taking the trip to the park with them. She had tried to point out that she was hardly necessary, and it was clear that Rory did not like her being around, but Ethel was adamant that she still come.

"I don't want to look like a total loser on my own," she'd complained. "Besides, we women always travel in packs. It's how we dazzle blokes. And Rory might have an available friend for you. We could double date or something."

Anna could think of no polite way of telling her that she'd rather poke her own eyes out.

Leaving Mary blissfully abed once more, Anna tiptoed out of the flat and headed for the lobby. It was another chilly morning, and she set off at a brisk pace in the direction of Ethel's house, thinking longingly of the bed sheets that she could still have been toasty warm in.

She made it to the end of Ethel's street and hopped on the spot, shivering. Unusually, Ethel was nowhere in sight. It was a rarity that she was there first; Ethel was always standing there with her hands on her hips, an admonishment ready on her tongue for Anna's tardiness. Well, she couldn't complain about her today.

Five minutes later, Anna was beginning to understand how Ethel might feel when she strolled up late. A task that was already tedious to her was fast becoming even more egregious as the minutes passed. Just where was Ethel? Had Charlie taken ill in the night? Was the childminder unable to take him? And if so, why hadn't she texted her to let her know that she wouldn't be able to make it? If it turned out that she could have had another hour in bed, she would be severely pissed off…

When another five minutes had passed with no movement from anywhere on the street, Anna decided that enough was enough. She would go round to Ethel's house, hammer on the door, and find out just what was going on. Grumpily, she stomped down the street, vaulted over the sagging fence, and hurried up to the peeling front door. She brought the grimy knocker down four times and stood back impatiently. When nothing happened for another minute, she knocked again.

There was movement behind the door, and in the next moment it was wrenched open—but just a crack. One of Ethel's dark eyes peered at her through the tiny gap.

"Anna, what are you doing here!?" she hissed.

Anna frowned. "What do you mean? I'm doing what I've done every day this week. Dragging myself to your door to accompany you on your run. Are you not even _ready_ yet?"

"No," said Ethel, somewhat sheepishly. "And I don't think I quite feel up to it this morning. Sorry, Anna."

"Well, I wish you'd told me sooner. Are you ill?"

"What's with the twenty questions? Yes, I'm ill, if you must know. Terrible cold. Started in the night. Didn't want you to catch anything off me, so I thought it best to avoid you today."

"What about Charlie? Is he going to be okay?"

"His grandparents took him last night. They're keeping him for the rest of the day."

"Oh, well, that's good." Anna eyed her suspiciously. "I hope you feel better soon."

Ethel's attempt at a cough was poor. "Thank you, Anna. Goodbye."

Anna was just turning away when she heard it. The unmistakable low baritone of a man's voice.

Ethel froze.

Anna turned back.

"I knew it," she said crossly. "I knew you had someone in there with you."

"I don't!" Ethel said, looking frantically over her shoulder. Anna craned her neck. She caught a flash of something pale halfway down the stairs. The man's voice was louder this time.

"Ethel, babe, are you coming back to bed? Who is it?"

"I'll just be a minute," Ethel said loudly, ignoring the question. Her face was as red as her hair.

"Is that Rory?" Anna hissed. "Ethel Parks!"

Ethel glanced over her shoulder again, then opened the door a tiny bit wider, just enough for her to slip through. She stood on the stoop with a thin gown around her body, which did little to hide the fact that she was naked underneath.

"Oh, all right, yes, it is!" she hissed back, still red. "You can't blame me, can you? We've been flirting all week, and I have needs! It's been ages since I last shagged someone. Having Charlie around makes it difficult to be anything other than a single mother. Rory wasn't interested in that."

Rory was clearly only interested in one thing, Anna wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue. "I think the point is that you _have_ only known him a week!"

"Don't be such a prude. This isn't the eighteenth century anymore. Women don't have to dance around men and wait for their wedding nights like dutiful wives. If we want to sleep with several men, we can. Or at least we ought to be able to without being judged."

"I'm not judging," Anna said heatedly. "I'm looking out for you as a friend." Because, at the end of it all, _she'd_ be the one left to pick up the pieces when Ethel was left heartbroken. Her friend tried to put on a devil-may-care front, but she was as fragile as anyone else. Her tough circumstances had forced her to survive, and they often meant that she was far too quick to let her heart go too quickly when someone showed her just the tiniest grain of affection.

"Well you don't need to," said Ethel. "I'm fine."

"Fine," said Anna. She'd let her get on with it. She had to make her own mistakes. "See you around."

"Don't be like that with me, Anna."

"I'm not being like anything. But I'm obviously intruding on something and I do hate playing the third wheel. And I have to go if I don't want to be late for work. Have a nice time."

"Anna!" Ethel called after her, but she ignored it, turning on her heel and jogging down the garden path. She hurried to the end of the road without looking back and only paused when she was out of sight. She wilted against a lamppost and let the events of the last few minutes sink in properly.

It really wasn't that she was angry with her friend. She just wished that she'd be more responsible. Would it have killed her to pick up the phone and text her to say that she wouldn't be going on a run in the morning? She could have made up any lie to get out of it. Hell, she would have been _glad_ for the excuse to ditch running and stay in bed. But now she had been privy to an unwanted image _and_ she had been forced to get out of bed a whole ninety minutes before she would have needed to otherwise. And now there was no chance of getting back home and getting back into bed. Her morning had been ruined.

Well, now she was here, she was going to jolly well use it. She _hated_ running, but this morning, on sheer principle, she was going to go. And then, when Ethel wanted to go next time, she'd turn around and tell her that she wasn't coming. Nothing made her petty quite like being forced out of bed prematurely.

She used that same tired petty, stubbornness to drive her forward towards the park.

* * *

John woke, yet again, to a cold, wet nose. It really was the most unpleasant of things, and he pushed it away, swearing. Isis took no offence, panting happily as she waited for him to fight his way out of the sheets. She was very well trained in their little routine now.

After splashing cold water on his face to wake himself up a little, he pulled on a jumper and snagged the lead. Isis bounced around him excitedly, and he managed to hold her still just long enough to snap the thing on. Then, making sure the door was locked behind them, they headed off in the direction of Downton Park.

John had to admit, he quite liked the solitude of these early mornings. The cold did nothing for his knee, which he found was even stiffer than usual, but the peace more than made up for it. It wasn't often that he got to appreciate nature at its most beautiful, with the gentle cheeps of birds in the trees and the sweet scent of dew in the grass. In quiet serenity like this, it was almost possible to believe in anything. That there could almost be a kind of magic in the air, ready to change a person's life if they were only brave enough to acknowledge it.

He shook his head. What a silly thought.

"Come on, Isis," he said, chuckling to himself. "Let's get this over and done with. I need to channel all of these whimsical notions into something resembling prose when I get back. I've got some important things to do."

Isis barked once, as if in agreement, and strained at the leash. Patting her on the back, John allowed her to pull him inside Downton Park's gates, wondering idly what adventures she would find for them today.

* * *

Anna made it to Downton Park's gates in record time. Pausing for just a moment to secretly resent what she was about to do, she made her way inside. The place was already filling up with the usual early morning joggers, and she joined their ranks, keeping her head down as she began the daily grind. The last thing she wanted to do was attract another lone male.

As much as she hated to admit it, however, the running _was_ helping to channel the aggression she felt into something more productive. The adrenaline pounded through her veins, and although her lungs burned, she felt rather alive with it all. Running had never felt this good. Reluctantly exhilarated, she pushed herself faster, enjoying the strain in her muscles as her feet pounded along the gravel—

It all happened in split-second slow motion. In one moment, she was jogging along quite happily, truly feeling the ache in her muscles. And then there was a flurry of barking, a yell—

And then in the moment after that she was skidding across the ground, yelping at the sudden searing pain in her knees and elbows. Disorientated, she glanced around, trying to make sense of the pain, of what had just happened, before she was overpowered by something heavy and yellow. There was more yelling.

"Hey! I said _no_! Bad dog! Bad dog!"

The weight lifted; panting, Anna twisted herself in time to see a man wrestling an enthusiastic yellow Lab back on to its lead. He was red in the face and looked cross. The dog, by contrast, seemed to think the whole thing was a great big game. Its tail was just a blur. At last, the man dragged the dog back under his control.

"I am so sorry," he panted. "Christ, are you hurt—you're bleeding!"

Anna glanced down at herself, finding the statement to be true. Bright red blood was splashed across both knees, the skin around it an angry pink, and she could feel the blood dripping down her arm too.

"Christ, you're really bleeding," the man said, a tinge of panic in his voice.

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly, wincing at the sting.

"You don't look it. Those look like they need stiches!"

"They don't. I know more than most."

The man didn't look convinced by her response, but he didn't push her further. "Let me help you up. Please."

It was then, as he struggled to juggle the exuberant dog and his cane, that Anna recognised her would-be assailant; it was the man she had idly noticed over the past few days. Up close, he did not look at all the sort of person who might need help walking. He was tall and broad, with strong, dark features. Anna blinked as he offered his right hand to her.

"Please, take it," he said. "I feel terrible."

"Don't," she said, accepting his assistance without a moment's hesitation. He had a strong, firm grip that completely belied his cane, and his calloused fingertips whispered against her skin as he helped to right her with a wince. "It's one of the hazards of running. I'm surprised I haven't tripped over my laces before now."

"You don't look the clumsy sort to me," said the man, then cleared his throat. "Even so, I _am_ sorry about that. Bloody dog."

"It's fine, really," she said. "I admire a dog's enthusiasm. It's sweet."

"Sweet isn't the word I'd use for it. I'm John Bates, by the way. I feel like you have the right to know the name of the man who almost killed you."

"Anna Smith," she replied, holding out her right hand towards him. If they were going for introductions, they might as well go all in.

"Nice to meet you," said John, giving her hand a brisk shake. She was struck again by how firm his grip was.

"Likewise," she said.

"Though I'm sure you would have preferred it under different circumstances."

She risked another glance down at her bloody knees. "I won't argue with you there. I'm sure there must have been less painful ways. Still, we take what we're given."

John rustled about in his pocket for a moment before bringing out a handkerchief and holding it out towards her. "Here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she protested.

"I insist."

"But I'll ruin it."

"I have plenty more at home. Please, it's the least I can do. If you won't see a doctor at least give me this peace of mind. I don't have any plasters to offer you."

How could she refuse such an offer?" Fine," she sighed. "But you're making a fuss out of nothing." She took the pristine handkerchief from him and wiped it gingerly over her bleeding knees. It hurt like the devil, and the white handkerchief was stained crimson in a matter of moments, but pressing something against them seemed to stem the flow. It would be adequate until she could get home and take care of them properly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said John. He glanced at the Lab. "The dog's a bloody nightmare, I tell you."

"It's cute," she commented, unable to hide her smile at the way the dog's tongue lolled out innocently, as if it had no cares in the world. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Girl," John supplied.

Anna bent down to the dog's level, holding her hand out in front of her nose for her to sniff. As a general rule she wasn't really a dog person—she liked them but the thought of all the work she'd have to put in to having one made her shudder—but this dog was a real sweetie. She yapped and licked her fingers. It was a strange sensation, but Anna felt a warm glow in her chest nevertheless. People always said that there was something about animals that made a person want to be accepted. She supposed that that was what it felt like. "She's cute."

"You can stroke her, if you'd like," said John. "She's friendly. Too friendly for her own good, most of the time. Unless it's that terrier that comes to the park. I'm not sure if you've seen it around, but she hates that thing."

"I can't say I have noticed it," Anna said, moving to pet the dog behind the ears. She seemed to like that, making a whining sound and pushing further in to her touch. "I don't usually take much notice of anyone in the park, if I'm honest." She refused to breathe word that she'd only noticed him before because she'd worried that he'd been struggling to control the dog with his impediment. Who was she to judge? She knew nothing about him, and it was often said that dog was man's best friend. "How long have you had her?"

John paused for a moment. "Oh, you know, just for a short while," he said, somewhat evasively. "We're still getting used to one another."

"I'm sure you'll find your way soon enough," she said, glancing down at her watch. It was almost time for her to leave. If she dawdled any longer she would be late getting to work, and there was already going to be extra strain from the pain in her knees which would slow her down even more. She would have to politely excuse herself now. She was not accustomed to making any kind of conversation with strangers in the park, even ones who had kind twinkling eyes and an adorable sidekick. Not wanting to appear abrupt or rude, she said, "So, what's her name?" That would be a nice way out. She could tell the dog to be a good girl and then excuse herself—

But that notion was blown clean out of her mind with John Bates' next words.

"Her name is Isis," he supplied.

Isis.

Anna stared at the dog, taken aback. Surely not. It couldn't be.

Isis titled her head to one side and yapped again. Everything made perfect sense now. Isis hadn't just knocked her over in a random state of exuberance. She had clearly recognised her scent, and had bounded over to say hello…

This was not just any dog. This was Robert Crawley's dog. It was impossible that there would be many yellow Labs in the world with a name like Isis, and certainly no other in sleepy Downton. Anna knew that Robert was out of town with Cora—Mary had mentioned it a few times—but why Isis had ended up with this John Bates fellow, and why he was pretending that she belonged to him, was another thing entirely. Anna wondered if she had misjudged him after all, and he was secretly a raving lunatic.

"That's a nice name," she managed, fondling Isis' neck for the want of something to do.

John Bates chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't make the usual joke about her name."

"I find that that one's made in poor taste and is highly offensive. I know she's named after the Egyptian goddess."

"You know your history."

No, she thought, she just knew the dog, but she didn't say anything. What she really wanted to do now was get home and interrogate Mary. She surely had to know who was looking after Isis while her parents were away. Hopefully she would be able to shed a little more light on John Bates. "It's a pretty name. What made you choose it?"

John shrugged. If she didn't now know the true identity of the dog, she might have missed the discomfort in his tone. "I just like my Egyptian lore."

"It's a fascinating period," Anna agreed. "Does she embody some of her namesake?"

"Too much so," John joked, reaching down to pat Isis on the head too. "She's a handful."

Anna knew that already. She wasn't sure if Robert was simply too indulgent with her, or if she was just badly trained, but Isis had a strong will all of her own, and she was difficult to control. She understood why John had been having such problems with her now.

"She's still young," she ventured. "Maybe she'll learn."

John snorted. "Bloody hard to see where. Still, she's a lovely temperament and I suppose that's the most important thing."

"Yeah," Anna said. She offered her bloody handkerchief back, but he waved it away.

"Take it with you," he said. "You have more need of it than me. And like I said, I have several."

"Well, thank you," she said, dabbing gingerly at her elbow.

"Will you be okay getting home?"

"I'll be fine, thank you."

John cringed. "Christ, that came out sounding really creepy, didn't it? I wasn't offering to escort you. I just don't want you collapsing halfway there. I thought your friend might be with you to help you."

"Friend?"

He ran his palm over his chin. "Your running buddy, the ginger girl. And the bloke I've seen with you too." He grimaced again. "God, I'm not doing a very good job of reassuring you that I'm not some creepy psycho, am I?"

Anna giggled, a tad nervously, she had to admit. "Not at all."

"I should explain myself. I actually do a spot of writing. Taking note of the world around me is sort of engrained in my DNA. Anything could provide inspiration so I keep a weather eye out at all times in case it floats past me on the wind. I keep myself to myself as a general rule but I recognise the regulars out of sheer force of habit."

"I'm not sure I can call myself a regular," said Anna. "I don't like it enough to want to spend all my time here."

"Even more impressive, then. Shows you're dedicated to something. I always admire that. And at least you have a friend to help you. Writing's a bit of a lonely business, and it can be hard to find the right kind of editor to keep you motivated."

"You have an editor?" said Anna, genuinely interested. She'd met many blokes who fancied themselves as writers, but all that entailed was a lot of terrible poetry that she wouldn't even show anonymously, never mind the world. For some reason, men seemed to think that if a woman believed him to be a romantic poet trapped inside a rugged body, they were more likely to fall in to bed with them. Anna had left several of them disappointed in that regard.

John shrugged modestly. "It's a new thing. I suppose we'll have to wait and see if their risk pays off."

"I'm sure it will," said Anna, and meant it. If there was a person who embodied the image of a poetic soul, it was this man before her. There was simply something about him that gave off the aura of him being from another time, who might write about things other than terrible metaphors for a woman's naked body.

"If you don't mind me asking, where is your friend today?" John asked.

"Oh." Anna cleared her throat. "She's with Rory."

"Rory?"

"The bloke you've seen with us."

"Ah. Not a fan?"

"That obvious?"

A rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps a little. He seems rather pretentious."

"That's one word for it. And the less said about their absence, the better."

"I have to confess, I've been calling him Pretty Boy in my head."

Anna burst out laughing. "You haven't!"

John shrugged. "I couldn't help but notice him. I've seen the likes of him many times. He likes to think he's being charming but it usually just means that he talks at someone until they think they're impressed. Not that I'm insinuating your friend is easily impressed, of course!" he added hastily.

"I'm not offended. I rather agree with you. But people have to make their own mistakes." Anna tilted her head just slightly, studying the man before her. There was something about him that put her at ease. That intrigued her, almost. Tantalised her curiosity. "Do you give names to all of the people you notice?"

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You said you call Rory Pretty Boy in your head. Do you have names for other people? Do you have names for me and my friend?"

"Not at all," he said hurriedly, in a way that made her think that he was definitely lying to her. She wished she could know more, but alas. This was but a brief moment in time, and she couldn't prolong it. Still, it would probably keep her occupied through the morning, a pleasant diversion of wonderment when faced with crying toddlers and condescending adults.

She made a show of glancing at her watch again. "Anyway, I have to go."

John's face melted in to a mask of concern at once. "Oh, of course! You don't want to be stuck here listening to me witter on. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"You didn't waste my time," she protested. "I just have to go before I'm late for work."

"I completely understand." He clucked his tongue. "Come on, Isis, let's go. We've held this lovely lady up enough as it is."

"You haven't held me up, honesty," she said. "It's been an interesting change from the usual. And it was nice to meet you, John."

"Likewise. Enjoy the rest of the day."

"You too. Bye, Isis." She patted her on the head one more time. Then, with a quick wave, she set off at a brisk walk, feeling his eyes burning in to her as she lengthened the distance between them.

* * *

John watched Anna Smith leave, a funny feeling in the centre of his chest, staunchly refusing to allow his eyes to wander any lower than her shoulders. He would most certainly not take any kind of notice of the way that her backside looked in those tiny running shorts, however difficult the task might be. As he watched her walk away, he felt the tell-tale prickle of embarrassment, too.

What on earth had come over him? He _never_ made small talk with anyone he had just met, especially not pretty women he had inadvertently injured. At social gatherings, he was far more likely to stand on the fringes of the party than join in. He was not unsociable, as many people seemed to think when they met him. He simply enjoyed being out of the limelight and avoiding the awkwardness of having to talk to people he would never see again.

And yet he had just stood there for five minutes spouting rubbish at Anna Smith.

And he'd waffled on about being a writer like a prat. And lied to her about being Isis' owner. In his panic the words had tumbled out of his mouth before his brain had even had time to register them; now he was stuck with them.

 _Christ_.

If the floor had opened up beneath his feet at that moment, he would have been quite happy to let it swallow him. The one consolation was that he'd probably never speak to her again now that this moment had passed, and in a few days he wouldn't be coming to the park again. Still, until that moment came, it would be highly mortifying to see her and feel the ignominy wash over him all over again. And if she looked his way, met his eyes…well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Curl up in a ball and die, probably.

Beside him, Isis whined.

"I don't know why you're doing that," he told her grumpily. "You're the one who got me in to this mess in the first place. What were you thinking, running off like that and knocking her over? This isn't some ridiculous version of _101 Dalmatians_ , you know. She's lacking the other dog, for one thing."

She didn't take a blind bit of notice of him, watching Anna go with her head tilted slightly to the side, her tail thumping. He wondered what had provoked such a strange reaction in her in the first place, then shook his head. He'd given up trying to work Isis out already. She was a wilful law unto herself, and half-mad with it.

"Come on," he said, tugging lightly on her lead. "It's time we got back. Your misadventures have held us up quite enough for one day. Come on, Isis."

Isis did not seem to want to obey, remaining where she was and making a high-pitched whining sound whenever he tried to force her to heel. She was still fixated on the small speck that was Anna as she moved further and further towards the park's entrance, identifiable only through her neon yellow shorts. John paused for a moment, watching her departure as far as his eyes could see, before reaching down to pat Isis on the head.

"I know," he said softly, and wouldn't allow himself to think any more on what he was consoling Isis on.

* * *

Surprisingly, when Anna arrived home, Mary was already out of bed. That was unheard of at this time in the day.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she kicked her trainers off. Mary did not look up from her mug of coffee.

"Next door are at it again," she said grumpily.

"Ah." No more was needed on that particular subject; next door's fighting or fucking interchanged at alarming rates. "Which is it today?"

"The worst," said Mary. "I can't sleep when it sounds like a porno is being filmed. I'd sooner be up."

"It must be bad, then." Anna glanced at her watch. "All right if I hop in the shower?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you," said Anna, but before she could walk past her friend, Mary glanced up.

Her eyes widened. "Good God, you're bleeding!"

"Yeah, I had noticed that."

"Less of the sarcasm. It doesn't become you."

"Because you're sarcastic enough for the both of us?"

"I learned from the best."

Anna snorted. There could be no denying that. Old Violet Crawley was the most formidable woman she had ever met, and she ran rings around the entirety of her family on a daily basis.

"So, what happened?"

"I fell over."

"Well, I'd figured that much out for myself. Must have been quite the fall."

"It was." Anna hesitated for a moment, then decided on a half-truth. "I was knocked over by a dog."

"Heavens. Sounds quite the brute."

Anna smirked at her own private joke. "I'd say enthusiastic more than a brute. But it caught me off-guard."

"No wonder. You look like you've been in a war."

"I feel it, too. It hurts like hell. But they'll be as right as rain once I get some antiseptic wipes around them." Absently, Anna clenched her fist, where she still held the soiled handkerchief that the mysterious John Bates had kindly donated to her.

Mary noticed the movement at once. "What's that you've got there? Did Ethel give it to you? She doesn't seem the sort to carry handkerchiefs around with her."

Anna sighed internally. She'd forgotten all about Mary's magpie-like tendencies, honing in on something the least bit out of the ordinary like a bloodhound scenting its prey. Usually, those skills were directed towards fashion. Unfortunately for her, Mary also seemed to have the unfortunate ability to sense when something the least bit exciting happened in her life. "It isn't Ethel's, no."

"Then whose? Please tell me that slimy bloke she's been trying to shag for the last week hasn't turned his attentions on you."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Ew, no, thank you very much. He's all Ethel's. It was the dog's owner. He was very nice."

Mary arched an eyebrow. "'Very nice', eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you start. I don't mean it like that."

"What? Come on, you never give me any titbits to live off. It's been a criminally long time since you last went out with anyone, never mind any other kind of fun that might come with it. I have to take my kicks where I can when it comes to you. Did you get his name?"

"No," Anna said staunchly. For now, at least, this would remain private. She wanted to find out more about this John Bates before she told Mary that she'd met him.

"How mysterious. Was he at least fit?"

"He was handsome enough," Anna said carefully. There was no way in seven hells that Mary would ever consider John Bates 'fit'.

"Well, handsome is a good starting point. I can work with handsome. Did you fancy him?"

"Of course not," Anna said crossly. "I spoke a few sentences to him. We're not in a fairy tale. That's not enough to make me fall madly in love."

Mary held up her hands. "All right, all right, no need to get ratty with me. This is how much I'm clutching at straws when it comes to your pathetic love life: I'm hoping you find a stranger hot enough to bang."

"I'd want something more than just a quick shag from someone."

"Which makes you horribly romantic. That doesn't happen so often anymore. You ought to have been born a hundred years ago. You'd fit right in."

She hated it when Mary patronised her. "Very funny. It's called staying true to myself and not caving to societal pressures."

"Ooh, touché," said Mary, unaffected. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm only teasing you. Tell me more about this mysterious rescuer. What did he look like?"

"Is it clichéd to say tall, dark, and handsome?" said Anna, relenting only a little.

"Maybe, but I've always liked the sound of it. How old do you think he was?"

John Bates was older than she was, that much was certain. Early forties, if she had to hazard a guess. But if she told Mary that, her friend was likely to have a heart attack. Matthew, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, was several years older, and she often moaned that that felt too much at times, which was absolutely ridiculous. She'd be mortified to think that she'd been speaking to a man of that age, even if there had been nothing sexual about it. Instead, she decided on a truth of a different kind. "I'm not sure, really. You know I'm rubbish at guessing ages."

"It's almost as if you're deliberately not giving me anything to go on," Mary tutted. "Fine, have it your way. I'll leave the subject alone. Though you might as well tell me. You know I'm just going to ask Ethel for the details the next time I see her."

"Try," Anna shrugged. "She won't be able to tell you anything. She wasn't there."

"She wasn't?"

"No. She ditched me for a morning in bed with Rory. I knocked on the door for her and caught them in the nude together. It's a disturbing image, let me tell you."

Mary shuddered. "I can quite imagine. So you actually went running on your _own_?"

"Well, what else could I really do? My morning had already been ruined. It's not like I could come back and go back to bed. So I figured that I might as well go ahead with it."

"And it brought you together with Lover Boy."

"Mary…"

"Okay, fine, you're not in the mood for a bit of fun, I see that. Go and get your shower and try to be in a better mood when you come out."

"I'm going. But I am curious about something."

"What's that, then?"

"Seeing the dog got me wondering," Anna said as casually as she could, "aren't your mum and dad still away at the moment?"

"Yes, so?"

"Who's looking after Isis while they're not here? I was rather expecting her to live here for a few days."

Mary winced. "God, no. There would be dog hair everywhere. I'm not having her in the flat."

"I thought you might have wanted her, given you grew up surrounded by dogs."

"Oh they're nice enough for a short while. But they're so much _work_. And I will certainly not be picking up its excrement."

Just the image of Mary Crawley with a poop bag was enough to make Anna snort with laughter. She was far, far too refined for any of that. She wouldn't even have a designer Chihuahua for the aesthetic. "I wouldn't have minded having her here."

"Which is precisely why I wouldn't let Papa ask you. You'd've caved in a heartbeat. You're too nice."

"I've never known that to be a bad thing before."

"Well, it is. Look how long you put up with that dreadful ex of yours. If he'd been mine, I would have dumped his sorry arse the first time he stood me up."

"I didn't suffer fools gladly, though. The moment he messed about with someone else I kicked him to the curb."

"True," Mary conceded. "And I hope he spends every day realising what an absolute idiot he was to lose someone like you."

"You always say the nicest things, even with your heart of stone."

"Thank you. Don't let anyone else know I complimented you, though. They might not fear me as much, and that's no good to me. Anyway, why the sudden interest in Isis?"

"It's not sudden. I was just wondering, that's all. I wouldn't want her starving to death somewhere."

"She's not. Papa roped his best friend in to looking after her."

Anna feigned a frown. "His best friend? I've never heard him mention a best friend before." That much, at least, was true; she had never heard John Bates' name mentioned once in all the years she had known the Crawley family.

Mary waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, his name is John Bates. He and Papa go way back. They met each other about twenty years ago, when they were in the army together. Papa was John's commanding officer, but John saved Papa's life when they were in the Falklands War."

Anna couldn't stop her gasp. Now that did genuinely surprise her. She'd been standing in the presence of a hero and had never known it. "What happened?"

"They were on a patrol or something, and they got ambushed. The Argentine soldiers were aiming their guns at Papa and John dived in front of him and pushed him out of the way. Papa managed to get his shots off and kill them, but John was shot too. It was the end of his career in the army, actually. He was sent home and was never deemed fit enough to serve again."

"How awful," Anna said softly. That explained the cane that he used. He must have been shot in the leg. How terrible it must have been, to have lost his sense of purpose in the flash of a single moment. She'd thought that there had been a touch of the tortured poet about his person, and now it made perfect sense why. Her heart ached for him.

"It was rather. But Papa never really talks about those days, and John certainly doesn't. In fact, it's been years since we last saw him. He just moved up here recently."

Anna's ears pricked up at that. "Did he?"

"Yes," Mary continued obliviously. "Just got out of a ghastly divorce to the devil in disguise. He was looking for a fresh start somewhere and Papa managed to convince him to move up to Yorkshire. Quite why he'd want to leave behind the bustle of the city is anyone's guess, but he seems to have settled in quite nicely here, and I suppose it must be a relief to get away from that harpy."

"Mmm," Anna agreed. It was quite a lot of information to take in in one go. So he was a divorcee as well as a writer, and new to the area to boot. It made much more sense why she had never come across him before now. "Well, I'd better get on, otherwise I'll be late."

"Of course. Cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely." Anna smiled gratefully.

"And a biscuit?"

"You know me too well."

"I'll pop you some toast in."

"You are an angel, Mary Crawley."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Well, you are when you want to be, and I love you for it."

"Hush before I start blushing. Go and get ready."

Anna mock-saluted. "Yes, ma'am." With that, she headed off to shower off the morning sweat.

* * *

John spent the rest of the day in a daze. For some reason, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. Every time he tried to put pen to paper, he was overwhelmed by a sense of horror. Even though it was unlikely he would ever speak to Anna Smith again, it was difficult to think of anything else but of how he had made a complete fool of himself in front of her.

"Christ," he groaned, putting his head in his hands. He heard the soft pad of Isis' paws across the floor, and in the next moment she had pushed her head in to his lap. John scratched her ears absently, staring at his paper. None of the words made sense, and with the way he was currently feeling, he wouldn't be making any sense of them at all today. Sighing, he tipped his head back, turning his attention to the crack in the ceiling. Well, he supposed it wouldn't be too bad to have one day off. He could do with the break. His mind was constantly saturated with ideas and carefully constructed prose. He'd find something else to take his mind off his thoughts. A book, perhaps. He was so busy writing that he barely had time to do any reading anymore. Or perhaps he could pick up a boxset. He had several clogging up his recorder.

"What do you think, girl?" he asked Isis, as if she could read his thoughts. Isis barked, pushing her head further on to his lap. He stroked down her back, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"Good choice," he said. "I'll set the TV up."

With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and limped out of his study towards his cramped front room. He switched the television on and settled himself down on the sofa, stretching his right leg out on the stool in front of him. Isis padded in after him and jumped gracefully up beside him. She snuggled up against him. As much as he'd decided that he didn't like it, he had to admit that there was something soothing about having a companion with him. Perhaps, once Isis was gone, he'd have a look at an animal of his own. Not a dog, because it would be more work than he really wanted, and the temptation to return to Downton Park might be too great; he wasn't sure how he would explain the presence of a different dog if he saw Anna again. Perhaps a cat would be better. They were more independent, and he was sure he could find one friendly enough to want to snuggle against him on the sofa on a cold night.

It was a thought for another day. For now, he had Isis for a few more days, and he had to stop being so stupid. One conversation with a pretty woman ought not to make him feel such a way. He was quite happy with the way that his life was now. Women had caused him enough trouble for one lifetime, and beyond that, how could he ask any woman to share his baggage? He had far, far too much of it for three people, never mind two.

"I'm being stupid," he said aloud. Saying those words to a quiet room made them realer. Settled him slightly. Isis blinked as if she quite agreed with him. Shaking his head, John patted her side, settled in to the comforting weight of her against him, and focused his attention on the television, waiting for teatime and his meal for one.

* * *

The day was a busy one. With every moment that passed, Anna found that she was completely swept off her feet. These days passed the fastest, but they were also the most gruelling. She barely had the time to scarf down a sandwich in the staff canteen before she was back working again. By the time that her shift came to an end, Anna was exhausted. She felt it in every aching bone as she buckled herself in to her car seat. Thankfully, it was only a short drive across town to her flat, and soon she was back at home. Predictably, Mary was already there, sitting with her feet up. Anna sometimes envied Mary's casual hours. She seemed to come and go as she pleased. The perks of being a mogul, she supposed. Dumping her things down, she collapsed on the sofa beside her friend.

"I'm done in," she complained. "And starving."

"I've popped us something in the oven. I figured you deserved it after the morning you've had."

"See, you're an angel." Anna stretched. "I think you just saved my life. I couldn't face cooking. I'd've probably ended up with takeaway."

"Which would have undone all your good work this morning. Not that you need it, not when you're like a stick."

"Well, I'll probably end up going for a run tomorrow, anyway," she mumbled absently, focusing her attention on the TV screen.

"Is Ethel forgiven, then?"

"What?"

Mary shrugged. "Well, I know you wouldn't be mad enough to go alone if given the chance because you're always complaining about it. Which means you must have forgiven her her indiscretions. More fool you, really. _I_ would have let her stew for a couple of days so you could have had a break."

"I'm too nice," Anna reminded her.

"One day you'll learn," Mary said sagely. "Anyway, go and get comfortable and let me take care of everything. And how about we watch a film so we can sigh over how perfect Chris Pine is?"

"Sure," Anna said vaguely. "I won't be long."

She slipped out of the room before her friend could question her further, and headed for her bedroom. Closing the door firmly behind her, she pulled out her phone and sent off a text: _Sorry, Ethel, but I won't be coming for a run in the morning._

A few minutes later, her phone dinged. _What!? Why!? You're not still mad about this morning, are you?_

 _No_ , Anna wrote back, _but I fancy a day off tomorrow._

 _But that means I won't be able to go now! I can't go on my own!_

 _What about Rory?_ Anna typed, feeling a little petty stab at that. _Can't he go with you?_

 _He says he can't tomorrow. He's got a big conference to attend and he can't afford to miss it._

Yeah, right, Anna thought. More likely that he was the snake that she had predicted he would be, already slithering off now that he'd got what he'd wanted. Ethel would be lucky if she ever heard from him again. But now was not the time to state that, especially when she was trying to orchestrate her plan. She didn't want to cause another argument, or to cause a rift between them. She loved Ethel dearly, and had come to appreciate her even more in the wake of her friend Gwen's departure for pastures new. She had known Gwen for many years and it had been so hard to lose contact with her on an almost daily basis, but Ethel had picked her back up, dusted her off, and got her enjoying herself again. Almost too much, if truth was to be told. She'd woken up with far too many hangovers since Ethel had declared herself chief fun maker.

 _We'll have to pick it up some other time. I really want a few days off. I think I pulled a muscle and I don't want to make it worse._

 _Fine_ , was Ethel's blunt reply. She probably saw right through the lie, but she would have no idea what Anna was truly planning. She didn't like leaving the conversation on such a tone, but it was probably for the best for the time being. If she tried to pacify her friend too much then they would only end up back where they had been in the first place. So she threw her phone to one side and rummaged for her comfiest pyjamas. Laying them out on the bed, she headed for her second shower of the day, glad to get the smell of the hospital off of her skin. She stood under the stream of hot water, simply enjoying the way it felt on her, and planned the following morning in her head. Ethel thought that she was staying at home to rest her aching muscles. Mary thought she was going out for a run with Ethel. The two of them rarely crossed paths, and neither would think to check with the other—they always simply assumed that she was telling the truth. That was another perk of being too nice. It made people trust her completely, and allowed her a little wriggle room to get away with small white lies here and there when the need arose.

Tomorrow, she had her own agenda. She would slip away from the house early enough to get to Downton Park, where she hoped that she would run in to John Bates again. It was a mad idea, really, she was well aware of that, but she had always been too curious for her own good. She wanted to probe a little deeper into the man. He had received what amounted to almost high praise from Mary, which offset whatever slight twinge of doubt she might have felt at his strange decision to lie about Isis. And if he was a friend of the Crawleys, well, he could be a friend of hers too. If he'd just moved to Downton, he wasn't likely to know many people. It would be nice if she could make him feel more at home up in the Yorkshire Dales. They would probably run in to each other at some point at a Crawley gathering. She might as well start trying to build a rapport with him now. There was nothing wrong in that.

Shaking her head, she finished her shower and headed back to her bedroom, the smell of cooking enticing her back out. All of those thoughts could wait until tomorrow morning. Right now, she had a date with Chris Pine to catch.

* * *

The usual morning routine began bright and early for John. When Isis' cold nose hit the side of his face, he groaned, pushing himself upright.

"I'm coming," he said, running his hand through his hair. Isis seemed to trust his routine, and had already padded out of the room to wait for him by the door. John heaved himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He splashed cold water on to his face to wake himself up a little, then found the clothes from yesterday and pulled them on. In no time at all he was ready to head outside, Isis already straining at the leash.

It was a cold, clear morning, and he enjoyed the fresh breeze on his face as he lumbered along. His breath misted in the air, unusual for this time of the year, but it was refreshing nevertheless.

As he approached Downton Park, however, he felt his heart beginning to beat just that little bit faster in his chest—and it had nothing to do with being overexerted.

He was being foolish, he knew that. It was ridiculous that he should be feeling so nervous, excited, about the potential of seeing Anna Smith again. It wasn't like she would stop to talk to him. She had just been polite yesterday. He had been starved of actual graciousness from the opposite sex for so long that the moment anyone offered him a kindness, he instantly fell in to the trap of gratefulness. He would have to be very careful and keep _himself_ on a tight leash, never mind Isis. It would not do him any good to get carried away, and he had made a solemn promise to himself. No more wanting the impossible.

Determinedly, he limped in to the park and set off for Isis' favourite spot, which was far away from any runners. He kept himself blinkered, refused to glance around even once for the flash of fluorescent yellow running shorts.

Bit by bit, as his park routine moved on through the motions, he found himself relaxing more and more. There, that was better. He played a seemingly endless round of 'fetch' with Isis, taking a moment's respite whenever she went haring off after the ball he had thrown for her. It was rather amusing to watch her go, her legs moving as fast as they would take her, tongue lolling out happily.

When she eventually came to a stop, panting, he bent down to stroke her head.

"Good girl," he said. "How about we get you home now so you can have a nice, long drink, hmm? And some breakfast. That would be nice, wouldn't it?" His own stomach was grumbling at the mere thought of it. Perhaps he'd treat himself to a nice fry up this morning. His weight wouldn't thank him for it, but it would do his mood the world of good. He needed to have a good day of writing today, otherwise he was doomed. The last thing that he could afford to do was fall behind schedule. He'd never claw it back, and that would spell the end of his fledgling career. Robert had taken a huge gamble in introducing him to people in the literary world, and had forced them to take a chance on him as a complete novice, and it would be poor form to repay him with such mismanagement. Robert had already done so much for him. He could not let him down.

Now that she was thoroughly worn out, Isis walked beside him quietly, though she still spared a fearsome growl for the terrier that she had taken such a disliking to. She matched his pace perfectly, plodding along beside him as he made his way towards the exit.

"Hey, Mr. Bates! Mr. Bates!"

The foreign voice calling his name made him whip around at once, instinctively. For all he knew, there was another Mr. Bates in the park, but he still couldn't help but feel curiosity as he scanned for the person who had yelled out his name.

His eyes fell on her. And his heart kick started like a train thundering along at a hundred miles an hour.

It was Anna. _Anna_ who had called his name.

He did his level best not to stare at her as she jogged towards him, ponytail bouncing behind her, tight-fitting running clothes just a little too perfect. What on earth could she want? He had imagined the possibility several times over in the hours leading up to this moment, had hoped guiltily that it _might_ , but he had never considered that it could ever be a real likelihood. Now it had happened, he didn't know what to do. He simply stood there dumbly. Isis, however, let out a joyful bark, all of her energy suddenly returning to her. She surged forward, almost pulling him over, and his grip on the lead—which had become lax in his shock at seeing Anna—slipped. A chilling sense of déjà vu swept over him.

"Isis!" he yelled, though he knew it was futile, for she hadn't taken the slightest bit of notice of him last time.

Thankfully, Anna was more prepared this time. When Isis leapt up on her hind legs and planted her front paws against her shoulders, she only wobbled slightly, and laughed.

"Hello, girl," she said, fondling her ears enthusiastically. "And how are you today? Full of beans, I see. Well, that's very good. A happy dog should be the only kind of dog, isn't that right?"

Isis' tail wagged nineteen to the dozen. John seized the end of her lead and tugged.

"Down," he commanded. "Bad dog. You need to ask permission before you go blundering in like that. Not everyone will want it."

"She's fine," said Anna. "I don't mind."

"Even so, I would have hated it if she'd knocked you over and hurt you again. I can only apologise. And I promise I'm not always this irresponsible with her. You took me by surprise, that's all."

Anna shot him a mischievous grin. "I very much hope that you don't set Isis on every woman you meet."

Heat rose up in his cheeks. "N-No, of course not! I'm—"

"I'm teasing you," she overrode him. "Although if you did, I'm sure you'd have all the women falling at your feet. This face is just too cute to resist." She pressed a kiss to Isis' head and took a step backwards. He tensed his arm on the lead to stop Isis from bounding after her. Clearing his throat, he tried for a nonchalant, unaffected reply.

"I'm not sure I'd have much luck there," he said. "I've never seen Isis react this way towards a stranger before. She's usually very cautious."

"Maybe I just have the touch," said Anna.

"Do you have animals of your own?"

"No, I don't. But that's only because my flatmate hates them. When I get my own place, whenever that might be, I plan to have one then. I don't think a house is a home without a pet, do you?"

"I quite agree," said John, thinking of the lonely flat he returned to day after day, no animal in sight. He shifted his weight, eager to get the conversation away from the huge lie that he had told. Already he could feel the sweat accumulating at his temples. If she ever found out the truth, she would think him a real creep. And then she would hate him. He just prayed that when Robert returned, Isis did not continue trying to greet her whenever she saw her. That would spell the end, and even if he never _did_ see her again after this, he would hate to think that she had a poor opinion of him, especially when lying was so completely against who he was as a person. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Oh!" said Anna, starting. "I've got something for you. Here."

With that, she thrust her hand towards him. Confused, John opened his palm to take what she was offering. She placed a square of clean white cotton there, and he realised what it was at once: the handkerchief he had given her yesterday.

"It was a bugger to get all of the blood out," Anna continued. "You have no idea how much wash powder and detergent I threw in there. But it worked because I can't see a spot of blood on it now!"

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble to return it to me," said John, touched. "You could have thrown it away. Really, I have others."

She shrugged. "I always think it's nice to return something that's been given as a kindness."

"Well, it sounds like you went above and beyond the effort that you ought to have put it." John stowed the little square in his pocket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

For a moment, they simply stood in silence. John felt a little uncomfortable prickle at the way she was looking at him. It was disconcerting, as if she was sharing some kind of private secret with herself that he was not privy to. But her face was completely smooth, devoid of scheming, and he wondered if he was just being paranoid because he'd lied to her. He searched around for a topic of conversation.

"So, your friend still isn't here?" He winced at how leery that sounded. He really wasn't doing himself any favours.

"No, I'm on my own again today. But I don't mind. Sometimes it's nice to have a little bit of time to myself to think. I suppose you're the kind of person who understands that mentality, if you're a writer."

"I suppose so," John conceded. But it could also be dangerous, too. If he spent too much time alone, he was in danger of slipping in to a treacherously brooding mind set, and that did not help him. Which was why, as much as he _did_ like the solitude sometimes, he preferred to spend his time with people he genuinely liked and admired, like Robert. It would at least take his mind away from his darker thoughts for a time.

Christ, it really _did_ feel like he'd been giving himself the shrink treatment over the last couple of days. There was something about Anna that made him analyse himself. It wasn't an entirely comfortable feeling.

"Anyway," he said. "We'd better get going. Mustn't slow you down. I've done too much of that already."

"You've done no such thing," Anna protested. "I stopped _you_ , not the other way around. I wanted to speak to you and thank you for what you did for me yesterday."

"Anyone would have done it."

"Not necessarily. Not everyone shows other people a kindness."

Then they were fools, John thought, if they didn't want to help someone like Anna out. He did not voice that, however. "Some people would say it was naïve."

"Then those people are stupid," said Anna. "When is it ever naïve to help out someone who needs it?"

John shrugged. "I know plenty of cynics, and they've all had reason to be so. It's our experiences that shape who we are, and I suppose there's always beauty in disagreeing with someone and offering an alternative viewpoint." Not that it really made any difference, in his experience; most people were usually so stubborn in their belief that they were the ones who were right that it clouded their ability to see others' points. It had certainly been that way for him where Vera had been concerned. Everyone had told him that what he was doing was a bad idea, but he had been too in love with the exciting idea of her that he had refused to listen to anyone else. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

"I can see your point," Anna conceded. "But I prefer to look on the positive side."

"I admire people who can do that, I assure you. Sometimes I wish I could do it more often."

"Then why don't you? All it takes is a little belief in magic."

He snorted. "Oh, I lost all belief in magic a very long time ago." That had died the moment that his leg had almost been blasted off, and he had been left with a permanent disability, returning to England a shell of the man he had been before.

"I don't believe that's necessarily true. You might think it is, but I don't think any writer in the world can do their job without breathing magic in to what they do."

"I'm afraid you're mistaking me for J. K. Rowling," he tried to joke.

"I'm being serious. I don't pretend to know anything you write, but even if it's the grittiest, darkest, real-life drama, then there has to be some element of magic about it in order to get the readers to invest in the characters. Otherwise you have nothing."

"That's a clever point. I've never thought of it like that before."

"It's my job to offer the positive alternatives," she said airily. "Anyway, I won't keep you if you're busy. Nice to see you again."

She was on the cusp of turning away from him when he blurted, "I'm, um, I'm not busy." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. They were stupid. Desperate. No doubt she already had him pegged as an awkward soul, and this would do nothing to dispel that image. But he couldn't take them back now. The words were out there. He would simply have to live with the embarrassment.

But Anna turned towards him, her smile widening. "That's great. Would you mind if I walked with you?"

His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. Would he mind if a beautiful, charming young woman accompanied him on a stroll around the park? He would need his head seeing to if he did. "Not at all. It would be an honour."

"Thank you. I won't be able to stay for a long time because I'll have to head off home so I can get ready for work, but I always think a stroll in the park is more enjoyable if there are two companions."

"Technically, I have one right here," John joked, shaking Isis' lead. "I might not understand her very well when she tries to communicate with me, and she as sure as hell ignores me when I try to communicate with her, but we haven't done too badly so far."

"Well, I promise to at least try to produce a conversation you can understand." Anna tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they began a slow, synchronised amble, seemingly of their own accord. "Do you mind if I have a go walking her?"

John chewed at his lip, debating. The sensible thing to say was to politely defer. If anything ever happened to Isis then he would never forgive himself, and Robert would probably kill him. On the other hand, he found himself consumed with the need for this woman to like him. So pathetic, truly, but the truth all the same. And he had already lost control of Isis twice in the last two days. Anna surely couldn't be any worse than he was.

"Okay," he said, holding out the lead to her. She took it at once, looping it securely around her wrist and pulling it taut. Certainly not enough to hurt Isis, but enough to let her know who was in command.

"Are you sure you've never really handled dogs before?" he asked as they continued forward, allowing Isis to lead them where she wanted.

"No," Anna said.

"Isis has certainly taken a shine to you, though. She's never as well-behaved with me as she is with you. You must tell me your secret."

She smirked at him. "No secret, not really. I must just have the touch."

"Whatever it is, I wish I had it. Usually she just looks like she's badly trained when I take her somewhere in public."

"I think 'excitable' is a fairer description," said Anna. "And I don't think there's anything purer than a dog's excitement. It's so sweet to see."

"Yes," John murmured, but he found himself thinking that the purest thing he had seen in a long time was Anna Smith's smile.

* * *

The next few days seemed to fly by, and although he knew he shouldn't even acknowledge the thoughts that scratched at his subconscious for fear of giving them power, John found that he had never had a more enjoyable time.

Every day, Anna Smith had met him in the park, and it had been wonderful. Refreshing. More perfect than he could possibly say.

He had been worried that it might be awkward, but it never was. It was strange. They had only just met and yet they could talk to each other as if they had known each other for years. Anna had such a kind, easy nature that he couldn't help but find that he tripped over his tongue to speak to her, and he found her to be engaging and interesting in turn. There were never any awkward pauses or standoffs. He had never fallen in with someone as quickly as he had with her, not even Robert, who had been of a similar age and shared similar passions.

The walks passed so quickly that he wished he could actually extend them, and continue ambling around the park all morning. She started bringing cardboard cups of steaming tea with her from the local coffee shop on her way, abandoning all notions of running. He idly wondered what she had told her red-headed friend in order to turn up alone each day, and didn't quite dare linger on thoughts of what it might mean if she wanted to spend the time alone with him. That was far too dangerous for anyone's good. For now, he was more than content to enjoy this unexpected, unconventional friendship.

But every day that he parted from her, it was with a pang that this illusion couldn't last forever. This was but a fleeting moment in time, one that could not be replicated ever again. Very soon indeed, real life would snake its way back in and strangle all of the joy out of him. Robert would return and he would hand Isis back over, and that would be that. There would be no more excuses to come to the park and seek out conversation with Anna. He would go back to his lonely, depressing life, eating meals for one alone in front of the television, with an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction that he hadn't even noticed before now.

If only he hadn't been stupid enough to lie to her in the first place. At least that way he would have had an excuse to ask if she would consider seeing him again outside the perimeter of taking Isis for a walk. Purely as friends, he would have been quick to reassure her, but if she enjoyed their meetings as much as he did—which he hoped she did, considering that she hadn't yet made an excuse not to come and walk with him and Isis—then she might have agreed anyway. As it was, he had nothing left to gamble with. He would simply disappear from her life and would be too ashamed to ever come back in to it. She might wonder where he had gone, but eventually she would forget about him as she was consumed with busy real life once more.

He, on the other hand, would never forget her.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked him on that final day as they walked slowly around the perimeter of the park. "You've been very quiet."

He mustered a smile, hoping that it came out realer than it felt on his face. "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine."

"You would tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?" she asked, sounding concerned. That was another thing he liked about her so much. She was always on hand to offer support, no matter what. That came from her work as a nurse, he supposed. He had enjoyed getting to glimpse a more intimate side of her. If he had been given a choice, he would have probably guessed her profession correctly—a nurse or a teacher fitted her perfectly. She was the kind of person who seemed to thrive on helping out those in need. Her calm nature and her easy smile lent well to that profession. He could well imagine the easy chemistry she must have with those around her, and how she would help to make her patients' experience as enjoyable as it could be.

"I would," he said, though it wasn't quite the truth. He was sure that she had plenty of things on her plate without him adding his pointless worries to her shoulders. Besides, he had no choice in the matter. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. How could he tell her that the reason he was feeling such a despondency in his chest was because, after today, he would never see her again? It was more than he could bear to think about. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to beg her to forgive him for lying to her. He wanted to tell her that he liked her, that even though they had only known each other a week, he already considered her a friend. He wanted to tell her that he'd like to carry on being her friend, if she felt the same way, and ask her if she would consider spending time with him in other places beside the park.

He couldn't. He couldn't bear to face his shame.

And so he held his tongue and tried to force himself to concentrate on anything but what this final parting would mean. At least he could enjoy the time he still had left with her, and treasure the way she had made him feel. It had been a very long time since he had last felt like he had something to truly look forward to. Meeting Anna in the park really was the highlight of every day for him, and she had restored his faith in humankind somewhat.

"Can we stop for a minute?" Anna asked at length. He glanced down at her, wearing those small shorts and shivering slightly.

"Never mind me, are _you_ okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she responded. "I just want to pause for a moment."

"You'd be warmer if we kept going," he pointed out. "You're hardly dressed for the weather."

She giggled at that. "I got used to being dressed inappropriately for the weather a long time ago. I'm just usually a lot hotter and sweatier by now than I currently am."

John blinked, refusing to even let his mind go there. As determined as he was to always treat other people with respect, it had not escaped his notice that Anna was a very beautiful woman and, if he allowed himself to, it would be very easy to imagine her in less than innocent positions, especially when her slightly flirty tone led him in that direction too.

"Even so, it's hardly warm out," he said. "I'm freezing and I've got a jumper on."

Anna shrugged. "I'll survive. Besides, I'm sure Isis will be happy to keep me warm. She seems a very loyal sort to me."

"She probably will keep close to you," John conceded. "She seems to think highly of you."

"Then let's stop for a minute," she pleaded. "I won't be able to stop for too much longer because I've got to get to work, but I don't think there will be any harm in five more minutes. And we're in a nice spot here. It's sheltered from the wind."

What could he say to that? Nodding reluctantly—he wouldn't forgive himself if she ended up catching a cold—he stopped.

"Sit," he said to Isis. Surprisingly, all she did was thump her tail on the ground before obeying. That was a first. So far she had made it her mission to disobey him in as many different ways as she could.

Anna slid herself gracefully to the floor, winding hr arms around Isis' neck and pressing her cheek to her head. Isis wagged her tail harder. She seemed to like having Anna so close to her.

"Do you remind if I stay standing?" John asked. "I'm afraid if I get down there I won't get back up."

Anna's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I never thought of that. It's fine, I can get back up—"

"You'll do no such thing," said John. "I'm rather flattered that you didn't think about my leg. It's not a sensation I'm familiar with." He was used to sneers, to jeers, to being told to stop faking his injury so that he could get his hands on benefits. All of it sickened him to his stomach. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone who didn't seem to give it a second thought. She had never once stared at him, nor had she ever asked how he obtained such a life changing affliction. He was grateful to her for both.

"I'd still feel more comfortable if we were both doing the same thing," she said. "I hate craning my head back to look at people from this angle. It just reiterates that I never really grew."

"There's nothing wrong with being small."

"I don't think you'll convince me of that."

She started to get up, but John stopped her with a brief touch to the shoulder.

"Stay there," he said. "You spend enough of your day on your feet as it is. Rest them while you can."

"No, honestly, it's fine—"

"Are you always as stubborn as this?" he asked exasperatedly, trying to hide his affectionate smile. He could well imagine her using this determination as a force for good, compelling those around her to better themselves whether they wanted to or not.

"Yes," she said cheerfully. "It's something you'll have to get used to, I'm afraid."

Her words instantly dampened his mood. For a moment, he had almost been able to forget what the next few minutes would bring. Alas, reality could never be staved off for long.

"I'll come down to you," he said quickly.

"But you've just said you find it difficult to get down!"

"I think I can manage," he said stubbornly. Gritting his teeth, he used his cane as purchase as he slowly struggled to the floor. It was a painful experience. He never had to drop lower than the sofa usually, and this was so much lower.

Anna made an impulsive move to help.

"I said I'm fine," he said, his tone coming out much snappier than he'd intended. Pain always made his temper fray.

Anna shrank back at once, and he felt shame instantly. It wasn't her fault. None of it was. She had simply been offering a kind gesture, as she would with anyone she knew, and he had thrown it back in her face because of his hurt pride. He sighed ruefully.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"That's all right."

"No, it's not. It was bull-headed. I'm not usually like that, I promise. But I'm touchy about my leg. I don't like any attention being drawn to it if I can help it."

"That's understandable," Anna said softly. "I don't blame you for that. If I were you, I wouldn't want people to question my capabilities either. I know that your injury doesn't define you. I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

"You didn't," he said quickly. "Truly. I'm too touchy for my own good sometimes."

They fell silent for a moment. Isis yawned widely and pushed herself between their bodies, putting in the wedge. She was a warm heat, and John fussed her ears idly, staring out at the beauty of the park, wondering just what he ought to say next. Anna's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Of course," he said, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs. "What is it?"

She bit her lip. "Can I…can I ask how you got it? Your injury, I mean?"

The words brought an explosion of sourness in to his mouth. All at once, the memories came back. The cloying earth, so saturated with blood; the metallic stench of it in the air, so overpowering that he was sure that it would suffocate him; the sound of the bullet as it whistled from the barrel of the gun; the strange hissing noise it had made as it had pierced his skin; the overwhelming pain, so great that he had screamed out begging to die, so great that he had lost consciousness.

"John?"

He shook himself, forced himself back to the present, back to Anna, back to the reassuring weight of Isis beside him. His mouth was dry. "I was in the army before this. I fought in the Falklands. That was how I got it."

He heard Anna suck in a breath. "That must have been awful."

"It was."

"And it must have been very hard to deal with. I've seen trauma in people before. Some of them never adapt to a different kind of life."

"It took me a long time to do so," John agreed, thinking of all the nights he had been so drunk he wouldn't even have been able to remember his name, of all the times that he had wished never to wake up again as he drank himself into black oblivion. He was glad he had managed to pull himself out of that hole. It was somewhere he never wanted to return to ever again. Getting Vera out of his life for good had been a positive reinforcement for that. Once she was gone, he had found it easier to breathe. Easier to build himself back up and try to be the man he had always wanted to be, the man who could make his mother proud. It had not been easy, of course. But, finally, he felt like he was on an even keel once more.

None of this was stuff that he could divulge to Anna. As much as he trusted her, he didn't want her to know the true extent of his shame, of the depths he had fallen to after the injury. He had a feeling that she wouldn't judge him—she had probably seen plenty of cases in her time as a nurse—but somehow he felt that it would damage the image she had of him, and that was one thing he couldn't bear. He wanted her to like him, not to be disappointed in him. And, if they were to part after today, he wanted her to at least have some fond thoughts of him. It was selfish, but he could not control the way he felt.

"I'm lucky to still be walking," he said lowly, wanting to give her something more than just the basics. He would not tell her the exact circumstances surrounding the injury—he did not deserve the praise, nor did he enjoy the worshipping looks people shot him when they thought they were conversing with a hero—but he wanted to give her something. To prove to himself that he trusted her. "At the time, the doctors were uncertain. It tore right through the ligaments and shattered the kneecap. They thought I might have to have it replaced, but they managed to patch it up a bit. But they couldn't remove all of the bullet without damaging the nerves in there, so they had to leave it. They're hoping to give it another go one day if the shrapnel moves to a less dangerous position, but I can't say I really see the point of it now. I've accepted it."

"And that's so commendable," said Anna. "You ought to be proud of yourself for that. So many people seem to think that a disability means the end of a good life, but that doesn't have to be the case at all."

"You've seen your fair share of trauma." It wasn't a question; he could tell by the look in her eyes.

"I have," she said simply. "And not all traumas are visible."

There was something about her tone of voice that made him want to push her further, but at the same time there was something in there that made him sense that it would be dangerous to push. Nevertheless, it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hoped that whatever traumas she had seen hadn't been too damaging. It was always so hard to tell with people. Some showed no outward signs of trauma. He had known men in the army who had been the life and soul of their unit, who had gone home and killed themselves when it was all over. And women knew so many different horrors to men. Far more frightening ones for the way that some men could turn in to animals. His own mother had suffered at the hands of his father. He prayed that Anna didn't have a similar experience. But he could not ask. It was far too personal. Far too intimate. He contented himself with the thought that whatever she might or might not have suffered at some point in her past, she must have overcome it to be the person that she was today.

"Very wise," he said softly.

"But it's not a very cheery subject," she said. "Let's talk about something else. I'd be very interested to hear some of your reading recommendations."

He smiled gratefully at her. She always knew exactly what to say to make everything better. Already the atmosphere had lightened in the wake of her smile. "A fellow reader?"

"I love reading," she said enthusiastically. "Unfortunately, I don't have as much time as I would like to pick something up, what with how unpredictable my shifts can be. But I would love to have some suggestions for when I _do_ have the time. And writers always seem to have good taste."

"How do you know if I have good taste when you've never read anything I've written?" he joked. "For all you know, I could be worse than E.L. James. My list of recommendations might be no better than _Twilight_."

Anna giggled. "I don't think there are many writers in the world who are worse than E.L. James, John. And I'm sure you could do much better with that kinky stuff than she did."

He arched an eyebrow at her even as he felt his cheeks flooding with heat once more. "So you're confessing to having read _Fifty Shades of Grey_?"

"I think half the female population has. It didn't do anything for me, though."

He refused to follow that thread of conversation any deeper. "I can certainly give you a list of recommendations if that's what you really want. I've read some things that have changed my whole perception on things. Here." He shuffled around in his back pocket, searching for the ratty notepad and the pen that he always kept there, in case ideas or fragments of sentences caught him unaware. He found a clean page and penned down some titles in his firm, looping hand, hoping that she'd be able to read what he'd written. He tore it out and handed it over to her. Anna's eyes lit up as she drank in the words greedily.

"Thank you," she said. "This is perfect. I'll look them up tonight."

"You don't have to do that," he said; the last thing he wanted was for her to push herself in to something that she wasn't truly interested in just to feel like she was doing the right thing, especially when this was their last meeting.

"No, I want to," she said enthusiastically. "This is brilliant. Just what I was looking for. It'll keep me going for ages! Usually the only things around the flat these days are fashion magazines that my flatmate brings."

She had mentioned her flatmate several times. That didn't mean anything, of course. There could be a Mr. Right on the scene, just that they weren't serious enough just yet to be living together. Either way, it was an impertinence to ask. It wasn't any of his business. And he certainly shouldn't even be thinking about it. He shook it away.

"Well, I hope you find something in there that you like," he said.

"I'm sure I will," she said. She tucked it down the front of her tight t-shirt—and he was _definitely_ not going to go there—and glanced at her watch. Her face fell.

"I really should get going," she said. "I can't be late for work."

"Of course," said John automatically, but inside he was screaming, begging her to stay for just a moment longer, until he could gather up his courage to tell her the truth. The words rose in his throat and got stuck there, strangling him. All he could do was watch as Anna pushed herself gracefully to her feet.

"Bye," she said to Isis, bending down to fuss her. The dog leapt up at once, yapping, running in circles around her. Anna giggled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Silly dog," she said affectionately. She turned her gaze on him then. "Bye, John."

"Bye," he echoed, the word so very final. She set off at a brisk jog, throwing a lingering look and one last wave over her shoulder before she was gone. He remained sitting there for a time longer, staring at the spot she had vacated, wishing that he had been brave enough to make different decisions. But he had not been. So there was little point in dwelling on it.

"Come on," he sighed to Isis. "We need to get you back now."

She whined, as if in agreement with his silent wish that they could stay longer, perhaps wait here all night until Anna returned in the morning. With great difficulty he struggled back to his feet, rubbing at his knee as it twinged painfully. It really was not made for hunkering down on the floor like that. Once the pain had settled, he tugged on Isis' lead, forcing her to walk with him. She whined again, looking up at him with huge, brown eyes, as if begging him to reconsider.

"Too late for that, girl," he muttered. "And don't look at me like that. It's not my fault, all right? Besides, it's not going to matter to you anymore. You're going back home soon and everything will be as right as rain in your world again."

Isis only huffed, as if she thought him very stupid indeed for being so passive in this situation.

"Bloody dog," he mumbled, and refused to look at those accusing brown eyes the rest of the way home.

* * *

At five o'clock that evening, the doorbell rang. John had just been sitting down with a microwaved lasagne, and he sighed, putting the tray on the floor.

"Don't you dare go near that," he warned Isis, whose nose had started twitching with interest at his movements. He heaved himself up off the sofa and limped towards the front door. He was greeted by the round, cheerful face of his best friend. Robert Crawley was tanned and probably a stone heavier, and seemed to have a new lease of life.

"Hello, Bates, old boy!" he said cheerfully. "How wonderful to see you again!"

"Hello, Rob," said John, trying to inject as much enthusiasm as he could in to his tone. "How was the trip?"

"Oh, spectacular!" said Robert. "It was wonderful for me and Cora to get away together on our own. We've always got one of the girls around and it was nice to actually spend time together without being interrupted all of the time."

"Please don't tell me any details of your sex life," said John, stepping back so that Robert could squeeze over the threshold. "I'd really rather not know."

"Only because you're jealous that you don't have one of your own," Robert said. "Here, I've brought you something back." He thrust a paper bag at John's chest. Blinking, John fished the contents out. It was a fridge magnet that proclaimed, _Number One Dogsitter_.

"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically, stuffing it back and vowing that it would go in the next charity bag that fell through the letterbox. It went completely over Robert's head. He was busy looking around the small hall.

"Well?" he demanded. "Where's my girl? I would have thought she'd have been dying to see me!"

"Clearly I've looked after her too well," said John, leading the way down the hall. "She's decided that she likes living with me more than she likes living with you."

"Very funny. I'll have you know that Isis is very loyal to me. She wouldn't dream of leaving me. I'm more sure that I'll have her until the day that I die than I am Cora!"

"Well, I don't think anyone could blame Cora if she'd had enough of picking your smelly socks up from the floor," said John, remembering their days in the army. It was an urban myth that the army made a person tidy; as many times as he had been punished, no one had been able to make Robert tidy up his act. Rooming with him had been the most infuriating part of his entire career.

"You're being a bit of an arse this evening," Robert said good-naturedly. "Are you that disappointed to be losing Isis? I told you that she'd grow on you."

It wasn't the thought of losing Isis that was making him feel so down in the mouth. But the last thing he would ever admit to Robert was that he had met a woman in the park. He would have a field day with that one. Ignoring the jibe, he limped in to the living room.

"Oi!" he yelled.

Isis' disinterest in her master's return became completely apparent. She had her nose buried in the dinner that he had placed on the floor. At the sound of his voice, she looked up, bolognaise sauce all around her muzzle. She didn't look the least bit concerned that she had been caught disobeying a direct order.

"Bloody mutt—!" John stomped towards and snatched the tray away from her. In the background, Robert chuckled.

"That's my girl!" he said, and Isis finally seemed to register his presence, yapping joyfully and almost knocking John over as she rushed over to leap up at her owner. Robert fussed her like a man who hadn't seen the love of his life in over a decade, and John moodily shoved his tea in the windowsill until he could get past the heartfelt reunion that was taking place. That was his tea ruined. There was no way he was touching another mouthful of that. He'd have to chuck the cutlery and plate out too. No amount of washing would erase the traces of doggy drool in his mind.

At last, Robert finally seemed to register that they weren't alone. He glanced up at John. "Thanks for taking care of her, mate."

John only grunted; he was still smarting about the fate of his food.

"She's looking well. Have you been following my instructions?"

"To the tee. She never once set foot in the park at the end of the street."

"Good man." Robert patted her approvingly. "Well, I'll get her out of your hair. I'll expect you'll be wanting some peace and quiet now. Have you got her stuff for me?"

"It's all bagged up and ready to go. I'll get it for you."

Robert went back out in to the hall whilst John limped towards his bedroom, scooping up the carrier bags and taking them back to his friend. Robert looped them over his wrist and clipped Isis' lead on to her collar.

"Come on, then, girl," he said. "Let's get you home." He tugged on her and she bounded after him, nary giving John a second glance. Charming. Robert paused in the doorway. "Thanks again for all of this, mate. I know where to turn to next time I have to go away."

"Now wait a minute there!" John said, alarmed. "I agreed to do it this one time as a favour. It can't become a regular thing…!" Because even if it did, it wouldn't help his cause. Anna would surely wonder why she didn't see him for months on end, only for him to turn up with Isis for a few days before disappearing again.

But Robert merely waved at him as he moved off down the path, and John slammed the door behind him, quietly simmering. His irritation was justified and understandable. It had absolutely nothing to do with his regret that his final excuse to keep seeing Anna had trotted out of the door. No, absolutely not.

He stomped back in to the sitting room, snatched up his ruined tea, and threw the whole lot in the bin. He couldn't be bothered to scrounge up a replacement. Not that it mattered.

He'd lost his appetite anyway.

* * *

It was with some trepidation that Anna dressed for her daily run on this gloomy morning. Mary had confirmed to her the previous evening that Robert and Cora were home, which meant that John had probably given Isis back. There was a small chance that he would walk her one more time this morning, but she doubted it. Robert wouldn't want to be away from his beloved canine companion for a second longer than he needed to be. He'd probably fetched her home the very second that he'd returned.

Even so, there was still hope. And even if he didn't have Isis with him, perhaps he would turn up anyway, contrite and sheepish, to admit that he had lied to her, that he didn't have a dog but he had enjoyed her company very much over the last few days and that, if she could forgive him, he would love to spend time with her away from the park. She'd accept instantly. There was no sense in making him squirm. And she'd have a confession of her own to make in turn.

That tiny ball of hope glowed in her chest all the way to the park, warring with the more realistic part of her. The usual people were already there, but there was no striking profile that signalled John was waiting for her. Her heart sank. But perhaps he had been held up. She should at least wait for a little while.

She waited for almost half an hour before admitting defeat and dragging herself home. It had always been a long shot, she had known that, but somehow it stung to a painful degree. She'd almost been certain, despite not acknowledging it, that he'd be there. And now she felt stupid. Let down. Perhaps the bond they had been building up over the last week hadn't meant anything to him. Perhaps she was guilty of doing what she always did, expecting too much of people. Wanting them to give the same commitment that she did. _Too nice_ , she heard Mary's voice say in her head, and it soured her mood further.

It also seemed to be the catalyst for worse things to come. Everything that could go wrong did. Irate patients yelled at her about waiting times. She forgot her money for dinner and had to go all day without anything to eat. A child kicked out at her when she tried to examine his leg and caught her painfully in the side. Her shift ran two hours over because the nurse covering the next shift did not turn up and she had to wait for someone else to pick up the gauntlet. By the time she arrived home, she was tired and more than a little cranky. She only managed to grunt in Mary's direction before heading to her room and throwing her things to the floor. She collapsed on her bed and scowled at the ceiling.

There was a knock on the door.

"Go away," she snapped.

"I will not," said Mary. "Has something happened?"

"No, everything's fine. I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"You're a horrible liar, you know. Now, you might as well let me in because I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

"I really hate it when you're persistent," she said grumpily. "Why can't you be like a normal person and leave me alone if I tell you I'm fine?"

"That's boring," Mary said breezily. "Now, open up."

Scowl deepening, Anna hopped off the bed and undid the door for her friend. Why she didn't let herself in was a mystery to her. It wasn't a strange code of honour, that was for sure. She never usually had qualms about interrupting her privacy. Stomping back over to her bed, she collapsed there as Mary bustled her way inside.

"Right," she said, no-nonsense as usual, "explain."

"I've told you: it's nothing. I've had a bad day at work, that's all. You know what it can be like, working with the public."

"Actually, I don't, but I'll take your word for it. I'd never work directly with the public. Ungrateful shits."

"Let's not forget who gives you the millions every year," said Anna.

"Thousands, darling, not millions. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Anna rolled her eyes. Pedantic irritant. "Is that all? Because I haven't got anything else to say."

Mary huffed. "Fine, be like that. I was only trying to be a good friend."

Anna sat up on her elbows. "You _are_ a good friend. The best. But you're far too enthusiastic sometimes. Sometimes a girl just needs space."

"Fine," said Mary, holding up her hands. "I can take a hint. But I hope you know you can talk to me about anything. Because I have seen you plenty of times when you've come home in a mood after a bad day at work. I recognise the signs. This seems to be more than that."

"I'm really not in the mood for the shrink treatment."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "But you _will_ talk to me eventually."

"Only because you're so nosy. Will you at least leave me to brood in peace for the time being?"

"Fine, have it your way. But a problem shared is a problem halved."

Or a problem doubled if Mary was involved. Just the idea of telling her that she had been having daily meetings in the park with her father's best friend made her shudder. Mary would never, ever let her hear the end of that one, and no doubt she would try to read more in it than was really there. No, the quicker she could come up with a valid excuse for her disappointment, the better.

But not tonight. Tonight she would simply allow herself to feel the disappointment without analysing it.

"Tell you what," she said. "You go and put us something in the oven. I'm just going to nip in the shower again and I'll be right with you. I promise I'll stop being a grumpy arse. I'll even let you tell me about the hunk you had a meeting with the other day."

Mary's eyes lit up. "Deal."

"It's not to say I'm going to go out with him, though," she warned. Mary was notorious for picking out the worst people possible for a date. She had dated several frogs in the past—the worst by far had been Tony Gillingham, who had been unable to accept that what they'd had had just been a meaningless fling and had subsequently stalked her for a while, begging her to reconsider. The fact that Mary hadn't deemed it worrisome enough to report to the police spoke volumes about her narcissistic steak—she seemed to take it as a personal insult if a man wasn't completely destroyed by the end of their relationship. The last thing that Anna wanted to happen was to get saddled with some creep she couldn't get rid of, who was more than likely only going to be interested in sex. She was in no rush. The single life wasn't treating her too badly, and she was old enough to believe that if it was going to happen, it would. There was little point in worrying about these things. Her life was rich the way it was; she only wanted to let a man join if he was going to enhance it. But getting Mary to talk about it would at least distract her for the time being.

"Don't be long," Mary chirped now, ignoring what she had just said. "I've got so much to tell you! I really do think you'd get on like a house on fire…" She bustled out of the room with an added spring in her step. Anna rolled her eyes at her back, smiling slightly. Thank goodness it was so easy to derail her. She'd never get a moment's peace otherwise. Though, in fairness, she had probably created an even greater problem now. If she thought that she'd given an inch, Mary would push even harder for Mystery Hunk.

The prospect was still preferable to her finding out that she had been spending time with John Bates and was now gutted that it had come to an end. She couldn't have it both ways. This was the choice she had made. She was just sorry that it was over before it had even started. There had been the promise of a great friendship there, and it was a shame that it hadn't had the chance to bloom into something strong and good quality.

Alas, things didn't always work out the way that one might hope. All she could do now was be grateful for the time she had shared with him. Unless she could be brave herself.

The thought lingered, not allowed to fully form just yet.

* * *

For the next few days, John was beyond miserable. The house felt too big and too empty. It wasn't Isis' presence that he was missing, however. It was someone else entirely.

Anna, of course. Anna, who had touched his life so unexpectedly in such a small space of time.

He found that he missed her more than he could ever hope to—or want to—articulate. The mornings yawned on forever in front of him. Even walking, which he had taken to doing daily, didn't help, because it only highlighted how it could have been brightened by a lively conversation with Anna.

Worst of all, he had lost his ability to write. No words would flow from his fingers. The blinking cursor on the blank Word document tormented him. Tortured him. Showed him again what a failure he was. He hated it with every fibre of his being.

It went on for almost a week. He found that he had little appetite. The writing did not improve. He was having trouble sleeping.

The solution was obvious, of course. What he really needed to do was go back to the park. He knew Anna's routine. As long as she wasn't on an afternoon shift, or a night one, she would be running in the park at the exact same time every day. He would be able to catch her if he wanted. All he had to do was explain himself. Apologise for lying to her. Beg her for forgiveness. Ask her if she would consider being his friend in more than just a polite acquaintance way. He was sure that it could thrive in other environments besides brief chats in the park. He found her interesting, lively, fun. He hoped that she at least found him engaging in return. And if she told him that she didn't want to see him anymore, then that would be that. He would respect her wishes totally, and curse himself for being stupid enough to break her trust in the first place. If only he had been honest with her from the beginning. _Why_ had he been stupid enough to lie to her on that fateful April morning? Honesty was always the best policy; his mother was fond of telling him that. He should listen to her advice more often. She was rarely wrong. He wondered what she would say now if she knew that he'd messed up again. Probably roll her eyes, tell him that he'd never learn. Well, she was wrong this time. He had learned his lesson in a most painful way.

But…but perhaps there was something he could do to redeem the situation.

The thought matured over several days and he let it, turning it over as he might an idea for a novel. He scratched at it, changed things around until it was ready to present. It was the maddest idea he'd ever had and yet, somehow, he could make it work. At least for a short time. At least until he could explain himself properly. Gain the courage he needed to face his transgressions head on. There were a hundred things that could go wrong, but there was also one way it could go right. He was not a gambling man, and those odds were terrible, but it was a risk he had to take for the promise of the reward. All the maddest ideas in history seemed to have worked. Why wouldn't this one?

It would, he promised himself. Or so he hoped.

The very next day, he found himself pulling on his coat and heading outside before his self-doubts could talk him out of it. The morning was chilly, and it was an incentive to quicken his pace. The wild lawns eventually gave way to pristine gardens, the sort that were all replicas of each other, like something out of _The Stepford Wives_. It was most disconcerting. John had never liked this side of town, which seemed intent on suppressing individuality. At last, he was upon the centrepiece of the town. Downton Abbey was a magnificent sight to behold, and even though he had seen it a hundred times now, it still took his breath away. It looked like the sort of home that ought to have housed earls and countesses a century ago. In fact, Robert had confirmed as much. It suited his lavish personality. Money was never an issue to Robert Crawley.

He trudged up the long drive to the front door and banged the heavy knocker, ringing the bell for good measure in case there was no one near the front door. He was waiting for almost five minutes before the door opened, and Robert faced him, red in the face.

"Bates!" he said in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you! Is there something wrong?"

"No, there's nothing wrong," said John, hoping that his voice sounded steady. "Can I come in? I've been mulling something over and I've got a proposition for you."

"Of course you can come in," said Robert, standing aside at once. "It all sounds very intriguing. Would you like something to drink?"

"A tea would be great, thank you." It wasn't said without some trepidation; if he was bad in the kitchen, it was nothing compared to Robert. Mary had often said that if her father ever ended up living alone, they would find him collapsed on the floor because he had no idea how to use the oven. His attempts at making tea weren't any better. He always made them too milky for John's liking. Still, he would take it: there was always too much alcohol on offer at Robert's house, and the last thing he needed was to weaken after five years of sobriety.

"Cora's out," said Robert as they made the long trek through the house to the kitchen. John said nothing. He had a lot of respect for Cora, who had steadfastly steered Robert through some tumultuous times, but he preferred to avoid her if he could, too. Even though she was always polite to his face, he had suspicions that she had never really liked him that much. He could understand, really. He had been a hellion by his own admission in his youth, what with the bursts of temper, the fighting, the drinking. She'd probably thought that he was a bad influence on Robert, who was naïve and easily led. And he quietly believed that she was a little bit jealous of the bond he had with her husband, too. He and Robert had been bound closely by war and death and the uncertainty of any moment being their last. They had shared things with one another that they would never share with anyone else. Some people could accept that. Others had a harder time. Cora clearly fell in to the latter category.

"Take a seat," said Robert, gesturing to the breakfast bar as he bustled over to the kettle. John winced as he hoisted himself up on a stool, resting his cane up against the counter. He leaned on his elbows as he watched his friend's progress around the room. What should have been a five minute job turned in to fifteen. At last, Robert slid a weak cup of tea towards him, the lukewarm liquid sloshing over the sides and splashing over the saucer beneath it. He cursed as he reached out to mop up the excess which had landed on the worktop. John accepted the cup with half-hearted thanks, bringing it to his lips and trying not to wince as he took his first sip. Robert took a seat opposite him, not even bothering to touch the cup that he had made for himself.

"You said you had a proposition for me," he prompted. "I'm all ears. What is it? Have you come up with a marketing strategy or something?"

John snorted. "I have to finish the book and know where the bloody hell it's going before anyone can start to think of a marketing strategy. And that really isn't my forte. I'll leave that to the experts."

"So-called experts, anyway," Robert muttered. "That Thomas Barrow has a lot to answer for sometimes."

John knew vaguely who his friend was talking about. He had met Thomas Barrow on a few occasions, and he had always come across as a very unpleasant young man. He didn't want to know what he'd gone and done this time. Let Robert sort that one out for himself. It was none of his business.

"So what is this proposition if it's not work related?" asked Robert.

This was it. Everything rode on this. Suddenly finding the floral pattern on his mug very interesting, John said, "I was thinking that there might be a way for us to help each other out."

"You're still not making things plain, mate. Come on, spit it out. In what way?"

Nothing else for it. John took a deep breath and plunged right in. There could be no sugar-coating it. He had to say what he had to say. "With Isis."

Stupefied silence met his statement. He risked a glance up to find Robert staring at him.

"I'm lost," he said at last. "Why on earth would I need help with Isis? She's perfectly happy."

"I don't mean to suggest that she's not," said John hastily. "God knows I've never seen anyone dote on a dog the way you do on her."

"So what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it, having Isis around did me some good."

"In what way?"

John tried to shrug casually. "It made me do something for once. Usually I spend all of my time holed up in my spare bedroom trying to write. Having Isis forced me to go outside and do some exercise in walking her."

"Okay," said Robert, still frowning.

"And you've said yourself that walking her in a morning is a nightmare because you never have the time, what with having to get to work. So…so I was thinking that perhaps _I_ could do it."

If it was a possibility, John was quite sure that Robert's jaw would have hit the floor. "Excuse me? You're offering to _walk_ Isis?"

"Yes," he said, hoping that he didn't look as guilty as he currently felt.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"I've just told you why."

"And that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life. If you want to walk a dog so badly, get your own."

"I don't want my own," said John. "The walking is quite nice, but I don't want the baggage of the rest of it. Having Isis for those two weeks was more than enough."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it. I just don't see you as the sort of person who suddenly becomes all health-conscious. You smoke, for Christ's sake, and you eat more takeaway than McDonalds makes."

"Perhaps that's exactly why I _want_ to start walking Isis. I want to change my ways."

"Rubbish. There's more to it than that." Robert narrowed his eyes in an uncharacteristically shrewd way. "I know you better than anyone, Bates, and I know what a stubborn arse you are. You haven't changed your ways in twenty years. In fact, the only time I ever remember you not being a self-centred sod is when…" His eyes widened, and John felt a cold tickle at the bottom of his spine. Shit. Surely he hadn't been rumbled.

His worst fears were confirmed.

"The last time you changed your behaviour just slightly was when that harpy caught your eye. And you used to fall over yourself when a pretty girl looked your way. That's the only explanation there is. So, come on then, out with it," said Robert, snickering. "Your attention has been caught by some gorgeous, big-breasted brunette, hasn't it?"

"No," said John, scowling. "Don't be so stupid. I told you, I have no interest in seeing a woman again." Which wasn't a complete lie. In some respects, it was perfectly honest. Anna _wasn't_ a beautiful, big-breasted brunette. She was a gorgeous, blonde, wonderfully average-sized—Christ, not that he'd been _looking_ in that area. It was just a statement of fact. He wasn't the kind of man who leered at young, pretty women. But he was also an artist, and he was trained to take note of absolutely everything. And even if she _had_ caught his attention—which she absolutely _hadn't_ —he wasn't stupid. He had absolutely no chance of ever seeing a woman like her. She was far too good for him. He just couldn't quite seem to distance himself from her.

But that was only because he liked her and was interested in befriending her properly. It wasn't like he had many friends left these days, burning all of those bridges in his youth thanks to Vera and their destructive relationship. It would be nice to at least have someone other than Robert to sometimes see, if she was interested, and he didn't think that there was anything wrong in being drawn to someone who shared similar interests and made him feel at ease in a way that many people hadn't for a very long time.

"Whatever you say," Robert said, grinning like a loon. "I know your type. I bet she's a real hell raiser. Just promise me that you won't be introducing us to another Vera. My heart won't be able to take it, and you know the doctor has concerns about my health."

"Bugger off," John said heatedly. "I'm telling you the truth. I haven't fallen head over heels for a brunette I met in the park. That's just insulting. You might not want to believe what I said because it's boring to you, but it's the truth all the same: taking Isis for a walk encourages me to blow off a few cobwebs and it gives me some sorely needed exercise. I thought I might be doing you a favour by offering to take some of the pressure off you but if you don't want the help then fine. It's no real loss to me. I just thought I'd do a good deed."

"Well, there's no need to be hasty," said Robert. "But I _do_ disagree when you say it isn't any real loss to you. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have offered in the first place. You'd've gone for a walk on your own. Though I suppose some of your reservations might be justified. If _I_ ever saw you wandering around a park on your own I might think you'd escaped from the madhouse too."

"Charming as ever." John brought his cup to his mouth and forced himself to take a mouthful just to give him something else to focus on. "Fine, if you want to think that way, think that way. I know the truth and I'm not going to be embarrassed." He put his cup back down and made a show of checking his watch. "Anyway, I'd better be getting back. I have some writing to do and I've wasted enough time as it is. Thanks for the tea."

He slid off his stool and grabbed his cane, limping towards the door. In his head, he began to count. One, two, three, four…

"Bates, wait a minute."

Five. Bingo.

Trying his best to appear casual, John turned back around. "Yes? What is it?"

Robert stood before him, looking decidedly torn and frustrated. John waited a few more beats. Victory was all but his. He just had to be patient.

"Fine," Robert ground out at last. "I suppose what you're saying makes sense. I _don't_ have that much time to walk Isis in a morning, and Cora hates having the job if I overrun. I don't suppose there can be any harm if you take over the task. But you can't shirk your duties. If you're serious about doing it, you have to be here every day for six fifteen. Isis hates having to wait for her walks and it's not fair to make her."

"I'll be there," said John. "I found that taking her at that time suited me too." In which ways, he would never breathe a word of.

"Fine, then. When do you want to start?"

"Tomorrow is as good a time as any," said John, his heart thumping loudly in his chest at the mere thought of potentially seeing Anna again in less than twenty-four hours. He was sure that some of his eagerness must be showing on his face. It would be impossible to mask the odd combination of thrill and terror that was currently swirling around in his stomach.

But if Robert picked up on it, he never mentioned it. Thank God. Instead, he only nodded and turned back in the direction of the mess he had made.

"I'd better get this sorted out," he said mournfully. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning when you come to collect Isis."

"If you're not running behind somewhere," John quipped. "I can let myself in with the key you gave me, don't worry. Just leave her leash somewhere accessible and I'll slip in and out like a mouse. You won't even notice I've been."

"Well, I will notice because Isis won't be here. But I trust that you'll bring her back safe and sound."

"On my honour," said John, bending down to stroke her ears. She had been lying in the corner quietly this whole time—a transformation to her usual energetic self. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Isis. You remember our walks in the park, don't you? I'm sure we'll be just fine together."

Isis thumped her tail against the floor, tongue lolling out; those brown eyes seemed to know exactly what he wasn't saying, but the secret was safe with her.

The morning couldn't come quickly enough.

* * *

The days had plodded by at an unacceptable pace for Anna. It was absurd to think so, but there was a fact that she couldn't deny anyway:

Her days had gone quicker thanks to John Bates.

And how absurd it really was. How could a man that she had met just a few times over a brief period have brought so much sunshine to her life? Sunshine that she had never considered to be lacking, either. It was ridiculous, really, and totally uncharacteristic. She enjoyed socialising and meeting new people, but she had never met someone who intrigued her the way that John Bates did. Not even Mary, who she loved dearly, could compare. Which she hoped that Mary never found out about, for her best friend was sure to be offended. As narcissistic as they came, she would probably see it as an insult that she thought someone else could compete with her.

But, yes, absurd. That was what she was sticking with. And so she threw herself back into her daily routines. With a heavy heart, she texted Ethel and let her know that she was ready to start running again. She threw herself into the endless work that came her way. And, when she visited the park on those early morning runs, she tried not to glance hopefully about, expecting to catch a glimpse of John Bates.

Ethel's man drama made it a little bit easier to manage. As Anna had predicted, Rory had only been interested in one thing, and once he had got it, the bloom had quite gone off the rose. In the few days that they had spent shagging, Ethel had told her, he had not once enquired about her son, or shown any interest in Ethel beyond what she could do in the bedroom. Anna wasn't ungracious enough to say "I told you so", but it was on the tip of her tongue anyway. Since splitting with her ex, she had become an astute judge of character where men were concerned. She could spot a rat a mile off now. The git also had the audacity to show his face at the park, jogging round idly as if nothing had ever happened and turning his attention to the next gullible girl to stray across his path.

"I ought to warn her," said Ethel, no less feisty for her fall from grace. "She ought to know what a prat she's getting herself involved with."

"She might just think you were a jealous ex," sighed Anna. "The noble intentions don't always work out. I don't know what to advise you for the best. Hopefully one day he'll get his comeuppance."

"Hopefully," Ethel said fervently. "God, I can't believe I was so stupid. What on earth did I see in him in the first place?"

Anna deigned not to answer.

Unfortunately, her days did not brighten from there. Work was harried and stressful, and although she relished the frenetic pacing because it made the time pass faster, it also had a detrimental effect on her mood; there was nothing worse than dealing with rude, self-entitled patients. When she finally dragged herself home at night, it was to more of Mary's prying and poking, which did nothing to appease her irritation.

"You're just so _quiet_!" Mary was fond of saying. "Honestly, I barely recognise you. I know something has happened. I just wish you'd tell me."

"What's happened is that I'm tired of you questioning me all the time," Anna said grumpily. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just under a lot of pressure at work at the moment. That's all."

"Then if that's the case, you really ought to do something to decompress. Like go on a date."

"I am not going on a date with anyone you've picked out."

"But you said you'd consider it! And that's a very harsh thing to say. I have good taste in men, thank you very much."

"So Tony Gillingham was good taste, was he?"

Mary flushed and glared at her. "That's below the belt. I was lonely, you know that. And I can hardly help it if men find me irresistible. I didn't ask him to follow me around like a lovesick puppy."

She'd never deterred him, either, which had no doubt encouraged his stalkerish behaviour. Creepy didn't even begin to cover it. Even so, none of this was Mary's fault and it wasn't right to take it out on her. Really, she ought to come clean about the whole mad episode. Mary was likely to have a field day, but Anna had never enjoyed lies and deceit, especially when she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. This situation was vastly different, but even so. She did not want to be associated with liars and cheats, however slight her crime was.

Then again, it could mean admitting to everyone that she'd known who John Bates was right from the beginning, if they ever turned up to the same Crawley function, and that was a situation that she also wished to avoid. She had no wish to cause him any undue discomfort in his own lie.

She'd rather not think about her forgiving attitude when it came to John Bates' deceptions.

So she kept her mouth shut, and life continued as normal, each day blurring in to the next. It would get better over time, she knew that. Disappointment was but a brief thing, and she had learned the hard way a long time ago not to wish for things to be different, because that never got a person anywhere. Accepting the reality of a situation was the best thing she could do, and she was practical if nothing else. She would be more than fine in a few weeks.

Or she hoped, anyway.

* * *

When John's alarm went off the next morning, he uttered not one word of complaint as he rolled out of bed and stumbled into his clothes. He splashed cold water on to his face and gave his teeth a vigorous scrub before grabbing his jacket and heading outside into the brisk air. The walk across town was completed in record time, and soon he was fishing the key that Robert had had cut for him out of his pocket and letting himself inside the house. It was so vast that oftentimes it was impossible to hear activity in other corners of the house, and he thought better about yelling to let Robert know he was here in case Cora wasn't up and about yet—highly unlikely at this time in the morning. Instead, he limped down the hall and whistled, grabbing the lead that Robert had left out as promised on the side bureau.

"Isis!" he called. "Here, girl!"

She must have heard the clinking of the lead, for in the next moment she had appeared in the kitchen doorway, tongue lolling out. Yapping, she hurtled towards him, her claws clattering against the tiles. John tried to brace himself as she hurled herself at him, wincing as his knee wrenched just slightly, his cane losing a little purchase.

"I guess you're excited about your walk," he said, patting her head and trying in vain to push her back down. "Come on, girl, how about we get this lead clipped on, hmm? The sooner we do that, the sooner we get out of the house and into the fresh air." And the sooner they made it to the park, where they would hopefully run into Anna Smith again. His heart thumped at the mere thought of it, and he forced it down. Now was not the time to get distracted by emotions. He had to keep a level head, reminded himself that it was ridiculous that he was allowing himself to feel this way. No wonder Robert thought he was socially awkward if he allowed himself to get worked up about just seeing someone he considered a friend.

Shaking his head, he at last managed to hold Isis still long enough to secure the lead. Wrapping it firmly around his wrist, he struggled to lock the door behind him as she zigzagged around him, her tail just a blur as she took in the familiar scents and sounds of the neighbourhood. At last, they set off together. The closer they got to the park, the more that John's senses of anticipation and anxiety grew, knotting and wriggling in his stomach like live snakes. His step faltered only when they reached the familiar entry gates. Because what if he was doing the wrong thing by pursuing this? He already knew that it was a mad idea. What if he was just opening a can of worms?

What if, what if, what if.

Isis gave him no room for more debate. With an excited woof, she yanked forward on the lead, almost making him lose balance. He managed to catch himself before he wrenched himself any further, and reluctantly allowed her to guide him closer. It was too late to get cold feet now. Isis would not forgive him for dragging her away from the park when she had come so close to it, and he had heard several reports from work colleagues about how their pets' sulks were legendary. He did not own her, but he would rather avoid having a grudge held against him by a dog.

Sighing, he steeled his nerves and took his first step inside.

It all came flooding back to him in a moment as he trudged the familiar path. The air still smelled ripe with an unsavoury combination of duck excrement and daffodils. It was not a pleasant smell. The air still rang with a chorus of barking dogs, quacking ducks, and the pounding of feet on gravel as the early morning runners stormed by. John tried not to let his gaze flicker eagerly between them all, desperate to latch on to the flash of blonde hair that had become so familiar to him during such a short space of time. He caught sight of several people he recognised, and his heart lurched when he recognised Pretty Boy, jogging with a different woman now. So Anna had been right after all: he had dumped her friend for the next best thing as soon as the fresh prey had unsuspectingly run by with a nice, round arse. That had to have hurt. Did it mean that Anna and her friend had given up running? She had mentioned that she had only done it in the first place because her friend had railroaded her into doing it, and if they _had_ decided to stop then there was probably no chance of him ever seeing her again…

God, he was a fool for thinking that there could be any sort of future in this, platonic as he saw it.

Aimlessly, he wandered around the park, letting Isis take him where she wanted to go. She, at least, was enjoying herself, and he was happy to drift along beside her, lost in his own ruminations. He went through the motions of tossing a stick for her, and remembered at the last second to clip her lead back on before doing the circuit around the duck pond. It was also where they ran into the little terror terrier, and he had to hold her back as the two dogs started up their usual growling at each other. The terrier's owner huffed, and rolled her eyes at him, as if they shared some secret bond. He raised a weak smile in return and tugged Isis away when it looked like the woman wanted to find a way of opening a line of conversation. He was not in the mood for that today.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of blonde he had been longing for.

His heart stopped.

Surely it couldn't be…?

But it was.

 _Anna_.

She was jogging along the winding gravel path, ponytail bouncing, pink-cheeked and as lovely as she'd always looked. But she was not alone. Her friend, Ethel, was with her once more. He was frozen with indecisiveness. What should he do? He wanted to go over there and say hello, but a bigger part was shying away from that. The last thing he wanted to do was attract a lot of suspicious looks from Ethel. He wasn't sure how much Anna had told her friend about him, and he didn't want to make things awkward for anyone. Disappointment sat heavily and uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, like a stone. He had told himself not to get too ahead of himself, but it seemed he had failed dramatically; seeing her there, so close, made him feel as if he was in the desert and was being denied a taste of the oasis. He watched her go past like an anonymous vagabond might, in a crowd, watch a princess. She had not noticed him.

Isis, however, had noticed her. She barked and yanked on her lead, as if commanding him to follow her, and he had to tighten his grip on it until it cut into his palm to stop her from breaking free and giving chase.

"No, Isis," he scolded. "Not today. We can't see Anna today."

Not today. But what if it extended beyond that? To tomorrow? To a week from now? All of it would defeat the purpose of walking Isis if he couldn't even grab a thirty second conversation with Anna. He would be like being King Midas, unable to do more than look at whatever he loved the most for fear of turning it to cold, unusable gold.

Which, realistically, meant that he had a decision to make. What was the point in all of this if he was going to loiter in the shadows? He had to grab the bull by the horns and say _something_ , even if it was just a quick hello. At least that way he would be able to gauge whether this was a good idea or not. He was good at reading people. It wold be easy to back off and disappear forever if she didn't seem pleased to see him. He wouldn't bother her again after that. But he had to know, once and for all. And if he embarrassed himself in front of her friend, so be it. It wasn't like he'd be seeing Ethel again, either.

Screwing up what little courage he had, he slackened his grip on Isis' lead.

"Fine," he sighed. "You win. Lead the way."

With a joyful bark, Isis bounded forward, and John gritted his teeth against the jolt in his knee as he tried to keep pace with the energetic dog. He tugged her, guiding her to the left. It would probably look less weird and stalkerish if he came up from the side of them rather than behind. At least that way it wouldn't look like he'd been desperate to catch them up. No, he was simply walking his dog and just happened to be crossing their path.

Christ.

He kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the ground just in front of Isis as the two of them cut across the grass. Casual. He had to play this casual.

Isis let out an excited boof and strained forward on her lead even more, and he knew that they must almost be at the point of conversion. His hand shook as he tried to guide her.

"Steady," he muttered, not entirely sure of who he was speaking to.

Three, two, one…

Isis' paws hit the gravel path, and he did a moment later. He glanced up, and his heart contracted in his chest.

There she was, jogging towards him, mere feet away. As their eyes met, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"John?" she gasped.

"Hello," he said, hoping that he sounded as pleasantly surprised as she did.

"What—how—I haven't seen you in ages!" she stammered.

"Isis hasn't been very well," he said, thinking on his feet and suppressing a guilty wince—if Robert _ever_ found out that he'd tempted fate like that, he would probably kill him. Quite literally. "So I thought it best that we just stick to little walks nearby so that she wasn't being over-exerted."

"Oh, I hope it wasn't anything too serious," said Anna.

"No, nothing as serious as all that. Look, she's as fit as a fiddle now." He glared down at her, wishing she'd follow his lead and act a little bit more like a dog in recovery as she alternated between zigzagging backwards and forwards and straining up on her back legs to indicate that she wanted to greet Anna properly.

"Hang on—" said Ethel, frowning, and John felt his heart rising into his throat as he glanced across at her.

"Ethel," said Anna, in a tone that he'd never heard her use before, authorative and dangerous—no doubt the kind of tone she used when she was confronted with difficult and rude patients at the hospital—and Ethel closed her mouth at once. He tried to stop his own face from falling into a frown. What had Ethel wanted to say?

Whatever it was, he wouldn't find out from her. With a look between the two of them, she muttered, "I'll meet you at the bottom in a minute, Anna," and headed off. John watched her go for a moment before he was brought back to the present by Anna. She stepped towards him, wavered for a moment, then stuck out her hand. It was an awkward and rather endearing gesture.

"It's so nice to see you again," she said as he took her hand to shake. "I started to worry when I didn't see you for a few days. I thought that perhaps I'd offended you."

"And how could you have done that?"

She shrugged. "I thought I'd made a mistake when I asked you to tell me about your time in the army."

Now he felt guilty that he'd made her feel that way. If he'd told her the truth from the beginning, he could have avoided that.

"I promise, it didn't offend me," he rushed to say. "I just…Yeah, Isis was ill."

She laughed, bending down to fondle her. "You've already said that. So does this mean that you're here to stay?"

Her turn of phrase made it difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat. She looked at him hopefully, and he found himself caught by her blue eyes.

"Yes," he managed.

"That's great!" she beamed, then blushed slightly; she _had_ sounded very enthusiastic about that fact, and it stroked his ego—but only because he was relieved that she truly was pleased to see him.

"So, how have you been?" he rushed to ask to fill the gap.

Anna tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "Oh, great, thanks. Really great."

"Glad to hear it."

"And what about you? You must have been very worried when Isis fell ill."

He shifted, feeling guilty all over again. "I was, yes. But that's passed now."

There was a slightly awkward pause. Anna's gaze slid past him, and he half-turned too, zoning in on where Ethel was standing by herself, looking sulky.

"I should get going," Anna said apologetically.

John felt his insides sinking, but he tried for a smile. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry for slowing you down."

"I've told you before, you could never do that!" she protested. "But I'd better not keep Ethel waiting any longer, and I don't want to be late for work." She took a deep breath. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

He nodded, heart thumping. A broad smile broke out across her face.

"Good," she breathed. "Then I'll try and find a way to come alone so we can have a proper catch up. I don't think Ethel would appreciate being the odd one out. Meet me at the usual time?"

"O-Okay," he said, feeling the tightness in his chest dissipate somewhat.

"Great. See you tomorrow, John. I'm so glad to see you again." She reached out and squeezed his arm, so briefly that he almost thought that he'd imagined it.

"You too," he said as she drifted past him. "See you tomorrow."

He watched her go, waiting until she had pulled her friend into a crowd before turning to look down at Isis.

"Well, girl, that went better than I'd thought it might," he told her. "And she said that she'd meet us tomorrow. Aren't we the lucky ones, eh?"

Isis barked her agreement, nuzzling against his hand. He patted her muzzle absently for a moment. Yes, it had gone much, much better than he'd thought. There was a warm, happy glow in his chest that grew and spread, taking over every inch of him. It was a very pleasant feeling, and he basked in this foreign sensation of contentment before he shook himself out of it. He was lucky that Anna had been happy to see him, but he had to put that to the back of his mind now. He had some work to do when he got home, and he couldn't afford to be distracted all day just because he had got the outcome that he'd so desperately desired. That was stupid, reckless behaviour, behaviour he might have condoned in the past. But no more. He was a grown man who was just happy to have his life on an even keel once more. He intended for it to stay that way. No complications. Just a nice, easy time.

"Come on, Isis," he said, tugging gently on her lead as she continued to stare longingly after Anna. "It's time we got you home."

And with that, he turned in the opposite direction and began to trudge away.

* * *

Without preamble, as soon as they were out of John's eyesight, Ethel grabbed hold of her and gave her arm a sharp squeeze.

"Hey!" said Anna in indignation, pulling free. "What on earth is that for?"

"You tell me! What the hell was all that about back there?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you play dumb with me! He called the dog Isis!"

"So?"

"So there's only one person who would be weird enough to call their dog Isis, and that's your friend Mary's dad. I might never have met him but I _have_ heard Mary talking about him and the dog before. What was that bloke doing with Isis, and why the hell was he trying to make out that Isis belonged to him? And why did you seem so very cosy with him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Anna said crossly. "I wasn't being cosy with him."

"You could have fooled me. Spill. It's quite clear that you've met this bloke before. Is he the reason you were being so shirty with me about the jogging? So you could meet him alone and go for some secret trysts? You're as bad as I am! Worse, because you were so high-and-mighty about Rory!"

"It's nothing like that!" snapped Anna. "I've seen him around a few times and spoken to him. That's all. That's it. The most I've ever done is shaken his hand, thank you very much. I have absolutely no intentions of it being any more than that. He's a nice person and I'm being polite."

Ethel snorted. "Polite. Sure."

Anna felt her temperature simmering. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal of it."

"Because it has to mean more than you're letting on, and I'm bloody incensed that you lectured me about Rory when you're going about doing exactly the same, and being so shady about it!"

"I've already told you: we have never slept together!"

"But he wants to!"

"Don't be so stupid!" Anna's voice rose several octaves, and she winced at how shrill she sounded. But she couldn't help it: she was truly getting cross now. And she was a little cross at _herself_ for reacting that way, as if she was guilty of some heinous crime.

Regretted, just a little, that she had been caught out in a lie and now needed to do some desperate backpedalling to at least try to make it seem less scandalous.

She tried to soften her tone now, tried to keep her temper at bay. "I swear on everything, it's nothing like that. I just…I met him—John—on the day that you were busy shacking up with Rory when I came for my morning run. Isis knocked me over, actually, which is how we got talking in the first place. And yes, I admit it, I _did_ see him a few times afterwards, but we truly did nothing more than exchange a few words. And I didn't tell you about it for precisely this reason."

Bristly and curt, Ethel said, "And what reason might that be?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Immediately jumping to the conclusion that we'd been at it somewhere when in reality he's nothing more than a nice man who I see almost as a friend."

"I'm not sure I agree with the assessment that he's a nice bloke."

"And why not?" Anna felt her hackles rising; never before, in all of her life, had she ever felt the need to defend a man like she did John Bates. It was odd, really. For a very long time she had believed that all men were pigs, and that had only been increased tenfold when she had split up with her ex. And yet there was something about John's wide, kindly face that she couldn't help but trust. She had no reason to doubt him, and couldn't understand why anyone else would think differently to her. Nor did she _want_ to hear what others might be saying about him.

Ethel shrugged. "I'm just saying that I don't think there's anything to find nice about a bloke who lies about a dog. I tell you, he's doing it to get into your knickers. It's weird."

"Stuff and nonsense," she said hotly. "He's very shy. I think he just panicked. Mary told me that he was looking after Isis for Robert when he and Cora went away."

"So Mary knows about this?"

"No, not about this, but she knows John personally. He's Robert's best friend. They served in the army together. I know he's trustworthy."

"I fail to see that, but I suppose it's your mistake to make. Just don't come crying to me if it all goes tits up."

Anna gritted her teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Ethel was only being sore because she was seeing a hypocrisy that did not exist. She did not want to fall out with her friend. "Can we start walking now? I don't want to be late."

"Whatever." Ethel set off at once. Anna almost had to jog to keep pace with her. But the conversation wasn't over. There was still the small matter of tomorrow to discuss. She might as well go all in.

"I've said I'll meet him tomorrow," she said tentatively.

"Of course you have," Ethel said in a monotone. "So I take it you don't want to come jogging with me?"

"We could go earlier?" Anna offered. The last thing she wanted was for her friend to feel neglected. "And then I could hang around to meet him afterwards."

Ethel shook her head. "No chance. I've got Charlie, remember? I can't leave him with the babysitter any earlier than I already do."

"Oh, yeah," said Anna. "Well, maybe we can start doing in the evenings if I'm not on an afternoon or night shift?"

"We'll see."

"And you won't tell Mary about this, will you?" she said.

"I barely ever speak two words to Mary. You needn't worry. I'm not going to tell her. Though I'm sure she'd be very interested to know that you've got the hots for her dad's best mate."

"I haven't got the hots for him."

"Sure, whatever," said Ethel. "But that sounds to me suspiciously like you're planning on continuing this for a very long time, and the only true explanation for that is that you fancy him and just won't admit it."

Anna said nothing. It really wasn't worth arguing about.

And, on some level, she suspected that Ethel wasn't entirely wrong. Not about the motives behind it, of course. But there was something very intriguing about John Bates, and she wanted to at least try to unlock some of the mystery that surrounded him.

She hadn't expected to see him there when she had gone on her jog today. When her eyes had met his, she had felt the most intense, pleasant jolts she had ever known. Exhilaration, excitement, a few nerves…it had been a delicious sensation. If that could happen after only a few meetings, how could their friendship change if it was given more time to deepen and mature?

She couldn't wait to find out.

* * *

"You're in a better mood tonight," Mary commented when she at last got in from another long and gruelling shift.

"Am I?" Anna said casually. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, resolutely sidestepping her friend as she leaned in the threshold to the sitting room, eyebrows raised.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. "Very much so. What's happened to put you in such a good mood?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just need to get my scrubs off. Won't be long."

Before Mary could say another word, she slid past her and entered her bedroom, sharing a guilty, sheepish smile with her reflection.

Something _had_ happened. She could feel it in the seismic shift beneath herself, breathing life into her once more. It was a sensation that she rather liked.

And it was a rather lovely secret to have.

* * *

For the second day running, John barely had the energy to concentrate on anything. It was ridiculous, really. He was a fully grown man and he was struggling to contain his excitement. It should not be that way. Seeing Anna again was supposed to have settled him, not made him even less able to focus.

He supposed that perhaps that would change once he'd been given more than a brief, teasing taste of her, as he had been today.

He had little sleep once more, and was round at Robert's a touch early. He loitered outside until the appointed time, his impatience growing, then hurried in. Once more, the house was silent, Robert getting ready in another part of it, but he had left a note out on the worktop. John bent over to read it as Isis jumped up around his legs.

 _Thanks, mate. Really appreciate this._

If only Robert knew. Guiltily, John clipped the lead around Isis' neck, scribbled, _No problem, mate,_ beneath Robert's own untidy scrawl, and headed outside. The wind was brisk and refreshing, and Isis barked joyfully at being free once more, sniffing at the flowerbeds and marking her favourite lampposts as she passed. On pins and needles, John waited for her to finish, urging her along as quickly as he could.

At last, Downton Park came into view. John's heart was speeding like a freight train in his chest, and he felt uncomfortably sweaty under the armpits. Christ, he hoped it wouldn't be noticeable.

"John!"

Damn. There was no time to surreptitiously check. It was Anna's voice that had called to him, as sweet and welcoming as melodious birdsong, and he found himself drawn to it at once. She was standing at the park's gates, arms folded over her chest, dressed in her usual running clothes. Isis woofed happily and this time he let the lead go; she bounded over to Anna at once, tail just a blur. Anna bent down to greet her, laughing when she was almost knocked off balance as Isis tried to clamber into her lap.

"I'm not sure you're small enough for that anymore," she said, kissing her silky ears. "You're not the pup you once were, are you?"

Isis whined as if in disagreement, snuggling her head further into Anna's lap. John limped up in a much more dignified manner, finding that he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Hello," he said softly, a little disappointed that he couldn't find anything wittier to open conversation with. It didn't seem to matter; Anna's face lit up as she turned her gaze to him.

"Hello!" she replied enthusiastically, untangling herself from Isis with great difficulty. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks." He was much better for seeing her. "You managed to arrange things with Ethel, then?"

"Oh, yes," she said. He wondered just what she'd said to make that happen, and decided that it was probably better not knowing. Suddenly, he felt a little shy in her presence. It was ridiculous, really. They had been getting on so well before he'd had to return Isis to Robert. He'd never felt that way before. It was strange.

Anna must have noticed his discomfort, for she smiled at him gently. "Shall we get on?"

"Yes," he said, relieved. He was sure that he'd feel better once they fell back into some kind of routine.

"Can I walk Isis?" Her eyes were dancing with child-like glee, and his lips turned upwards of their own accord.

"Of course you can," he said. "It'll give me a nice break. I can barely keep track of her as it is."

"She's just excited," said Anna. "I can't blame her for that."

He felt some of that himself. Thankfully, he could at least act in a more decorous manner. Straightening up, he looped the lead around Anna's wrist and leaned heavily against his cane.

"Lead on," he said, and they fell into step together.

He couldn't believe just how easy it could be to regain the nice rhythm that they had had before. They did not miss one step, his clipped gait matching up perfectly with Anna's smaller strides. They moved along together with nary a space between their bodies, but it did not feel uncomfortable or invasive.

"How's the job?" he asked as they walked.

"Oh, the usual," said Anna lightly. "Hectic and exhausting, but very rewarding."

He frowned. "I hope you've been getting enough rest."

She shrugged. "I don't think there's a nurse in the country who ever really gets enough rest, but it's a sacrifice we make. Though I won't pretend that there aren't times that I don't long for some annual leave."

"And there the government goes, making cuts to the NHS again," said John.

"Unfortunately, there's not a lot we can do about it. We just have to do our jobs as best we can."

"I hope you're at least taking care of yourself. You can't let yourself suffer for your job."

"My flatmate has been surprisingly kind recently. You've nothing to worry about on that score. She's looked after me very well indeed."

"What does your flatmate do?" John had to admit that he was a little curious; Anna had mentioned her flatmate several times, but she was still a figure of mystery. She played her cards close to her chest on that one, and a small part of him wondered why. Then again, they had only known each other for a short time. It was only natural that she was only allowing him to see a small glimpse of her life. Perhaps, in time, that would change. He himself hadn't shared too many details with her, for fear of unravelling his lies before he had had the chance to be honest on his own terms.

"Oh, she runs her own business," Anna said airily. "So she gets to set her own hours. Needless to say, she's not there very often at all. I don't think I've ever seen a time when she isn't home before I am. But that's had its perks recently. I've not had to do much cooking, at least."

"That is a bonus," said John, thinking of the too-frequent takeaway boxes that piled up in his bin. His mother despaired of him, saw it as her greatest failure that he had not turned out to be a gourmet chef. Between her and the army, he had learned enough to get by, but it wasn't an experience he enjoyed. And, most of the time he was so caught up in his own world that he completely forgot about eating; when he realised that he hadn't eaten in hours, it was far too late for him to really want to begin cooking something from scratch. It was far easier to reach for the nearest menu and order in.

"And what about your work?" Anna asked.

John snorted. "It can hardly be called 'work', not in comparison to what you do."

"I disagree. It might be in a different way, but you bring joy and hope and entertainment to people's lives too. I think yours is much nobler. If the world is magical enough, you help people to escape their reality, even if it's only for a short while."

"You're far too kind. And unfortunately, it's not been going so well lately."

"Oh?" There was a touch of concern in Anna's voice. "Whys that?"

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Oh, you know how inspiration is. It comes and goes so fast that I can hardly keep up with it."

She frowned. "That doesn't sound good."

"I'm still on target for getting the first draft done. It's not something to worry about. There are plenty of worse things happening in the world."

"Even so."

"I've just got to keep plugging away at it. Everything will fall into place eventually." He hoped so, anyway. Now that he had reunited with her, he hoped that his muse would settle down and start playing bloody ball.

They continued their slow amble around the park, filling each other in on the small details in their lives that they had missed in the past few weeks. As they came to a rest on the large, open grassy space so that they could play fetch with Isis for a few minutes, John screwed up the courage to ask the question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue from the moment that Anna had agreed to meet with him.

Hoping that his tone was casual enough, he said, "So, um, how did you manage to meet me here without Ethel? You could have brought her along if you'd wanted, I wouldn't have minded." It was a lie.

Anna shook her head, looking a little sheepish. "I just told her that I fancied a break from the running again."

"And she was okay with that?"

"Yeah," she said, but there was something just the tiniest bit off about her tone, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Did she ask many questions about me?"

"No." Anna's short answer indicated that there was perhaps more that she wasn't willing to say. He burned with curiosity, but it was not his place to push if she did not wish to tell him. He turned his attention to Isis instead, taking the stick from her mouth and launching it for her to chase once again. He watched as she hared off after it, limbs long and powerful, almost tumbling over in her haste to bend down and snatch the stick up into her mouth. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, fighting a smile. The dog was most certainly taking after her master.

"I'm glad I caught you again," he said at last, as the silence stretched between them. He kept his gaze on Isis, but caught a flash of Anna's gold hair out of the corner of his eye as she whipped her head round to look at him, felt her gaze heavy on him.

"I'm glad too," she said at last, and he felt the warm ball in his chest expand. She was glad that they had come back together. There was still plenty to make him feel guilty, make him question whether what he was doing was the right thing or not. He was horribly aware of the lie that had brought them together, knew that nothing good could come from building a friendship based on lies.

And yet.

And yet for now, he could be content with the way things were.


	2. II

**A/N:** The final 'part' of the fic for **lemacd** , made possible by the wonderful idea she created. I really, really hope that this is a satisfying conclusion. Again, huge thanks to annambates who has constantly given encouragement and support and pivotal opinions when I was in doubt.

Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

As the weeks went by, Anna found that they slowly fell into a lovely rhythm with each other. When she didn't have an afternoon or evening shift, she would get up early and head straight for the park, where she would meet John. Most mornings he would be there already waiting for her, shifting from foot to foot, Isis fidgety and impatient at his side. It amused her no end that he still insisted on keeping up the charade that Isis belonged to him, but she would do nothing to upset the delicate balance between them.

Without a doubt, those were the best moments of her day, being able to spend that short time with him. John Bates had a way of making her forget about the world, even if it was only for a short time. He was unfailingly kind, so very generous, quiet and conscientious in a way that she had never known a man to be before. He never talked down to her. He never tried to overpower her in conversation. He actually _listened_ to her, made her feel valued and validated. In fact, she felt as if she could talk to him for hours non-stop and still not run out of things to say to him. He fascinated her. He was mostly a closed book, and there was little to glean from him unless he truly wanted her to know something, but that didn't stop him surprising her nearly every day with little things.

Not all of them good, if she was honest with herself. There was the fact that he smoked, for one thing.

It had taken her by surprise when she had seen it for the first time. He'd been leaning against a stone pillar waiting for her, cane tipped to the side, smoke furling around him lazily as he'd nursed the cigarette between his fingers.

"I didn't know you smoked," she'd said without preamble as she'd reached his side.

He'd given her a sheepish grin. "Not a good habit to have, I know, and probably one I shouldn't admit to having around a nurse."

"You're right. They're death sticks."

"And yet they're like a lifeline when you have the addiction. I have yet to shake the habit. Doesn't help that I find smoking helps the creative juices to flow."

She'd eyed him critically. "Please don't tell me you smoke a lot of those when you're writing."

He gave her another sheepish grin. "Then I won't tell you."

"John!"

He'd stubbed the offending cigarette out against the bricks behind him, dropping the butt to the ground and holding up his hands in mock-defence. "Look, it's out. And I'm only joking. I don't smoke a packet a day, if that's what you're worried about. Just as and when the itch takes hold. You'll be pleased to know that I don't smoke nearly as much as I used to."

"How much did you used to smoke!?" she'd asked, alarmed.

"More than was good for me. But I promise that I've started to turn my life around. Maybe one day I'll give them up for good."

"You'd better. Or am I going to have to start giving you lectures about the way that you're poisoning your body?"

He'd laughed, reaching out to squeeze her arm; it was an unconscious, impulsive gesture that he'd pulled away from almost immediately, but it had left a hot imprint upon her skin, burning her through her clothes. "You have nothing to worry about, Anna. I promise."

They'd walked together then, the same as usual, but Anna hadn't quite been able to tear her mind away from this new revelation. He smoked. And it frightened her.

Because what would she do if something happened to him? In her line of work, she had seen the terrifying effects of smoking all too closely. Lung cancer, COPD, bronchiectasis, the list went on and on.

She had no right to lecture him, of course. He was his own person. He could make his own choices. But it worried her nevertheless. In such a short space of time, she had grown to care for him a great deal. That had never happened before. She had never developed such a chemistry with a man as quickly as she had with him. Usually, it took her a long time to truly feel the trust. With John, it had been almost instantaneous. He made her feel safe.

And it had hit her all at once.

It went beyond simply caring for him. It went beyond being sad when she couldn't see him, and being unable to think about anything else in her mornings. It went beyond rolling over the memories they had made in her mind, or daydreaming about him idly whilst she went about a boring day at work. It went beyond simply worrying about his health.

It was so much more.

He was beautiful to her. The crinkles around his eyes when he smiled made her heart miss a beat, and she found herself trying to make him laugh for the sheer pleasure of hearing that husky, low chuckle reverberating in her ears. It was the pinnacle of her day if she could get him talking about a subject that he was passionate about, for his whole face came alive. She caught herself running her eyes along his broad, hulking form at inopportune times, treacherously wondering what he might look like beneath the layers of his clothes.

This had not been supposed to happen. It was complicating things beyond what she had told herself would happen. There was still the matter of the lie that was between them. Still the matter of John Bates being a closed book, giving nothing away about his own feelings. There were her friends, and Mary in particular, who would be offended and appalled in equal measures that she had started to bond with her father's best friend.

And none of that changed the fact of the matter:

She was falling for him.

* * *

As the weeks went by, John found that he and Anna slowly fell into a routine that suited them very nicely indeed. Their meetings depended on what shift she was on at work, but he was at her mercy. Even on the days where they couldn't meet up, he would still walk Isis to keep up the charade, and it made the days when he _could_ see her for a snatched moment even more special. Most of those days he was there first, but occasionally she would be, and he smiled to himself to see her standing by the gate's entrance, doing a little dance on the spot as she tried to keep warm. He was touched that she preferred to spend her mornings with him rather than her friend Ethel, though she reassured him she still saw plenty of her during the rest of the week.

Without a doubt, those were the best moments of his day, being able to spend that short time with her. Anna Smith had a way of making him forget about the world, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. She was unfailingly kind, so very generous, bright and sunny and so full of life, such a contrast to Vera's dark and dastardly ways. She never did anything that he would have to repay later. She never used him for her own gain or made him feel dirty and worthless. She made him feel _human_. In fact, she made him feel alive in a way he hadn't felt for years. She was a miracle.

She fascinated him. She was lightness and beauty, so intelligent, and there was a look in her eyes that suggested a thousand depths that he longed to discover. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her. Although she was fairly open with him on most subjects, there were ones that she would not touch upon too much. Her family, for one thing, and the other people she shared her life with. Sometimes he wondered why, but it was not his place to push. She'd helped him out in so many ways that he couldn't say, and he didn't want to risk pushing her away. He could hardly blame her, either—after all, wasn't he doing the same?

Although he'd started to discover that not everything she did was for the benefit of his health. Unknowingly or not—and he would bet his life on it being unknowingly—she was fast becoming a source of sweet frustration, and he was quite certain that one day she would give him a heart attack.

It had started out of the blue, had crept upon him like a predator stalking its unsuspecting prey. One morning, he had greeted her with the same innocence that he always had. The next, she had struck him dumb.

It wasn't as if he was blind to her charms. The first time he'd met her he'd been well aware that she was a very beautiful young woman. No one in their right mind could possibly look at Anna and fail to see her beauty. But that was what it had always been: a simple observation, like an admirer of fine art. And then, quite suddenly, it had been so much more than that.

He blamed the running outfit, of course. It made it impossible to ignore her womanhood. Tight, tight lycra, clinging in all of the right places, accentuating her legs, her waist, her breasts, oh, lord, her _bottom_. He had sworn off all women for various reasons, and yet he was still red-blooded.

When she had stretched up, the lycra pulling even tighter, he had been doomed.

"What is it?" she'd asked, shooting him a quizzical look over her shoulder. He must have been staring like a damned fool. He'd tried to shake his head, to focus on her eyes and not on any other part of her body, but his heart was suddenly throbbing in his throat and it was very difficult to swallow. Difficult to breathe.

"Nothing," he'd croaked. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a little…odd."

"No, it's nothing. I probably ate something last night that didn't sit well with me. I'll be as right as rain if I can just enjoy the fresh air."

"You've been in the fresh air for half an hour already," she'd said sceptically. "Are you sure there's not something else bothering you?"

"No, no," he'd said hurriedly. "Absolutely not. Let's walk."

And so they had. But it hadn't helped a thing. Each time that she had bent down to engage with Isis, he had found that his eyes were inexplicably drawn to the way that she contorted, and the beautiful planes of her body now exposed to his gaze.

And it had hit him all at once.

His feelings were going beyond what he had initially thought them to be. No longer was it simply just an act of caring for her. It went beyond counting down the moments until he could see her again, being at a complete block in his writing because she infiltrated his every thought. It went beyond the impulse to make her laugh and smile because it made him feel warm all over, and of wanting to know that she was well taken care of and safe.

It went so much further beyond that.

She was so very, very beautiful to him. The way that her blue eyes danced with a lust for life made his heart ache in his chest. The sound of her full-throated laughter gave him inspiration for days. Her kindness and faith made him want to be a better man. And of course her physical beauty could not go unnoticed or unremarked; every single other woman simply paled in comparison to her. Her inner beauty combined in a deadly manner with her outer beauty to ensure that no other woman could ever come close, and it made him wonder how he could ever have been so shallow as to waste almost half of his life on someone as vicious and vindictive as Vera simply because her dark beauty had seduced him.

It terrified him more than anything. This could not happen. He was damaged goods. He was of no use to anyone. Vera had seen to that when she had taken him for every penny she could get, and had left him angry and bitter and lonely. He had a prison record. He was crippled, for Christ's sake. What did he have to offer anybody? Absolutely nothing. And certainly nothing of worth to someone like Anna. He would do nothing that would take away the prospects that she had. He would do nothing to upset the balance between them. The last thing he wanted was to make things awkward. Hell would freeze over before someone like Anna was interested in someone like him as more than a friend. She had a whole, vibrant life ahead of her. His best years were well behind him.

Too old, too damaged, too poor. He repeated the mantra over and over again. Not that it did him any good.

And that wasn't even considering the vast lie that lay between them. He had lied to her from the very beginning, had snared her on a story that did not even exist. She thought that he was a trustworthy person, but that trust would shatter the moment she ever found out the truth about Isis. And he would have to tell her someday. They were having a good run now, but it wasn't feasible that he'd be able to lie to her forever. And nor did he want to. With every day that passed, it became clearer and clearer that Anna Smith deserved so much better than that.

And so he spent his days in an agonising, swirling vortex of emotions. Guilt, shame, longing, all warring with each other, leaving him heartsick and confused about what he should do. Intuitive as she was, Anna was always able to pick up on his moods. He tried to deflect her, and she was buying it for now, but he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep the charade up.

And none of that changed the fact of the matter:

He was falling for her.

And it bloody terrified him.

* * *

The unreliable summer weather was just starting to find its feet when Anna screwed up the courage to broach the topic that had been on her mind for a while.

"Why don't we do something together?"

At her words John, who had been in the middle of taking a sip of coffee from the takeaway cup that she had brought him—their new ritual—almost spat the whole thing out and promptly began to choke. Alarmed, Anna reached up to slap him on the back whilst Isis cocked her head to one side, showing the faintest hint of curiosity before she was distracted by a passing butterfly.

"What do you mean?" he gasped.

Anna kept her gaze firmly ahead as she steeled herself with a sip from her own cup. She had to admit, the words conjured up slightly more racy connotations than she had intended, but they were not the least bit unwelcome. There were a great many things that she would like to do with John Bates.

But they could take baby steps. They had all the time in the world, and she wasn't even certain if he felt anything for _her_. This could be completely one-sided. Some of the things he did made her sometimes think that it wasn't…but until she knew for sure, she could keep the hope alive in her heart.

And, of course, she had to pry subtly enough to know that one way or the other.

"I was thinking that we might go somewhere at the weekend," she said, choosing her words as carefully as she could. "We could go to the seaside. It's been years since I was last there and I know that dogs absolutely love it. Isis would have the time of her life. Has she ever been to the beach before?"

John blinked at her. "Um…no," he said, more tentatively than any real dog owner would say—she suspected that he didn't have a clue whether Isis had ever been before or not. It was probably rather cruel, really, to suggest going somewhere with Isis when she knew that he would have to find an excuse for Robert in order to steal her for the day, but it was the only thing she could think of that might not spook him. Isis was a safe topic, a buffer of sorts. This way, it could be nothing more than a friendly gesture in an environment that extended beyond the park. It was a stepping stone. If she was to discover whether there could be anything more than friendship in what they shared, then they needed to stop restricting themselves to the park.

"I have next weekend off," she told him. "It doesn't happen very often. I thought it might be nice."

"Don't you have anyone else you'd rather spend your weekend with? Your flatmate, perhaps? Ethel? A boyfriend?"

It was the first time in all of the time they'd known each other that he'd ever asked her about the existence of a boyfriend. It had to be a good sign, surely? Surely he was testing the waters, trying to gauge the temperature…

"No," she said, too quickly. "No, there's no boyfriend."

He swallowed hard. "Right. Well, for what it's worth, the men of Downton must be bloody stupid."

"Flatterer," she said, hoping her tone wasn't as unsteady as her heart felt in her chest. She knew the words must have been hard to say. From the little she had been able to glean from Mary without causing too much suspicion, John had had enough of women to last him a lifetime when he and Vera had split in the most acrimonious manner going, the stuff worthy of the tabloids. He hadn't looked another woman's way for a very long time, according to Mary, and she had to be careful about how she approached this. At the end of the day, she valued his friendship just as much as she fancied something more with him, and she didn't want to ruin that for anything. She certainly didn't want him to running for the hills or, worse, feel like he had to keep his distance out of some misguided belief that they might not be compatible with each other.

"I think that's part of the reason why he's never bothered dating again," Mary had told her, offhand. "Vera did a real number on him, and he's made his own fair share of mistakes in the past. Papa always says that he feels like he's damaged goods these days and he doesn't want to put that baggage on anyone else. But why the sudden interest?"

"No sudden interest," Anna had replied quickly. "I was just curious, is all. I've heard so much about this infamous John Bates and I'm wondering when I'll get to meet him. And you know I like to be prepared with all my facts and figures."

"You should have been a lawyer," Mary had grumbled, and had thankfully asked no more than that.

Yes, there was plenty of light treading to be done here, but she also wanted him to be in no doubt that she didn't care about the mistakes he had made in his past. Yes, all right, his mistakes were bigger than most people's—the fact that he was an ex-alcoholic had caught her completely off guard when Mary had dropped it into conversation, and it had taken her a little bit of time to reconcile that the man she knew was someone who had fallen to such dark depths—but it was clear to her that he had turned his life around completely. And surely that deserved a second chance? Even if that ultimately didn't come down to her, she would want him to have that. No one deserved to live their life feeling lonely and unloved.

"So, what do you say?" she pressed now, sweaty-palmed and eager. The pause before he answered was agonising.

"All right," he said at last. "Sounds good."

Her chest loosened, and she beamed at him, unable to contain herself. "Brilliant. I'll drive, shall I?"

"I couldn't ask that!" he protested.

"You're not asking. I'm offering. I was the one who asked you to go with me so I'll be the one to drive. I don't mind, truly. I don't often get the chance to take trips further afield. I'll enjoy it." And she didn't know what driving long distances might do to his knee—indeed, she didn't even know if he still drove anymore.

He thought about it for a minute. "Okay. Pick me up outside the park. That'll be easier for the both of us, I think."

Anna nodded, hoping that her momentary stab of disappointment didn't show on her face. In some dark corner, she had been hoping for a chance to glimpse his home, to see that intimate snapshot for herself. But there was plenty of time for all of that. She didn't need to get ahead of herself. And if she _did_ have that knowledge, well, it would make it all the harder to concentrate…

"So it's a date, then?" she ventured, thrilling at the look on his face. A multitude of things flashed across his countenance. She was quite sure that one of them was longing, and it buoyed her.

"It's a date," he said softly.

* * *

The 'date' came around surprisingly quickly, and it did not make things easier on John. He had replayed those words in his head a thousand times over, hearing the exact cadence in Anna's tone each and every time. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, told himself angrily that there was nothing _to_ make of it. He was not free to entertain notions of seeing Anna, idle or not. It simply wasn't feasible. Their lives were too vastly different, and there were too many obstacles in his way.

But he could push those feelings away and enjoy the day for what it had been planned as on the surface: a daytrip to the beach with a good friend.

There was just the small matter of Isis' presence to get around.

When he first raised the proposition to him, Robert raised his eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared into his hairline.

"I'm hearing things," he said. "You want to take Isis to the beach?"

"Yes," said John as stoically as he could. "I thought it might be nice."

"Bullshit. You're up to something. It's one thing to want to take Isis for a walk in the park. It's quite another to want to take her all the way to the seaside. You've met someone, haven't you? And now you're trying to impress your busty brunette with your caring animal ways. I bloody _knew_ that there was more to it than you just wanting to take Isis for a walk. Come on, who is she?"

"I've told you, there's no busty brunette," John snapped, trying in vain not to let his mind slip to Anna's slender, nubile form. "Look, if you must know, there's a scene I'm planning on writing that involves the beach, and I want to experience the whole thing so that writing it feels more authentic. I thought that taking Isis with me would be a good incentive to walk around the whole town, and she's surprisingly good company. She'll stop me from spending too long inside my own head."

"I could come with you for that."

"Not likely. All you'd want to do is go round the pubs sampling the local beer and I'd be stuck trying to get you home when you're completely rat-arsed."

"Since when have you ever had to do that in the past?" said Robert, outraged.

"Oh, please, it's happened so many times that I've lost count." He'd been in a much worse state himself a thousand times over, but those were days that he didn't like to think about, and nor did he like to be reminded of them. Robert was a jolly drunk, but even being around him whilst he was inebriated brought back dark and unpleasant memories for John. "And I think Cora would actually kill me if it came down to that. You told me yourself that the doctor has told you to cut back on your drinking for a while. I don't think Cora would ever let me in the house again." And he didn't need anything else to make their relationship frostier than it already was.

Robert looked disappointed that his rendezvous in the boozer had been quashed. "Well, I could come anyway. It would get me out of an awful day with Rosamund. She's up to visit Mama, and you know what she's like. She wants to take charge of _everything_."

John knew that all too well. After his car crash split from Vera, Robert had suggested that he take Rosamund out on a date and see how they got on. She had been single for a long time after the death of Marmaduke, and as far as Robert was concerned there could be no man he would entrust with his sister more—and he was certainly a damned sight better than that sly weasel, Hepworth, who had been sniffing round her at the time. The thought of going out with Rosamund had given him sleepless nights for a week. She had intimidated him from the first time he had met her more than twenty years before, and he couldn't ever imagine himself getting over that. The date—if it could even be called that—had ended in disaster when she had invited him in and moved in for a kiss and he had flinched away. Robert hadn't spoken to him for almost a week. Sometimes he still had nightmares about her bursting into his room in a dominatrix outfit and tying him to the bed.

"No, I think I'll do better being on my own," he said, thankful now that Anna had suggested this daytrip. These days, if he could avoid Rosamund he did, eager for their embarrassment to never be brought up again. "I need to concentrate, Rob."

Robert pouted. "Fine, have it your way. Do you want to take Isis for the night?"

"I think that would be best," he said gratefully. At least that way he wouldn't have to get up at the crack of dawn to ensure that he could pick her up and be back in time to get to the park.

"I knew you'd say that," Robert sighed. "I hate not having her with me."

"Perhaps you and Cora could do something special," John suggested. "You know, quality time together and all that."

"We would have the house all to ourselves," Robert mused.

John pulled a face. "Keep that to yourself. I have no desire to know a thing about your sex life, mate."

"Only because you're jealous you don't have one."

"So funny," John said sarcastically. "You'd better get Isis' things together before I bust a rib laughing."

"Only the sex-starved don't have a sense of humour." Robert began to gather Isis' things together and, as if she sensed that something was afoot, she appeared in the doorway, cocking her head to the side. She yapped when she saw John and came darting over. The extra time they had been spending together recently had certainly warmed her to him. Ignoring Robert's comment, John bent down with a groan to fuss her, wrinkling his nose as she slobbered all over him. Robert could say what he wanted. He was content with the way things were.

Maybe if he told himself that enough, it would finally be true.

After politely declining an invitation to stay for tea, John took Isis home and spent the night in front of the television. Even Friday Night Football on Sky couldn't take his mind away from what lurked just around the corner, and he smoked a moody couple of cigarettes before deciding to call it a night. Not that it got any better when he actually got into bed: he spent the whole time tossing and turning, his stomach twisting in a reluctant mix of anxiety and excitement. He must have dozed for an hour near dawn, but he was still up before his alarm had chance to sound.

Deciding there was no point lingering in bed, he rolled out of the sheets and began his morning ablutions. He took longer than usual in the shower, allowing it to pour down over his knee, easing the tension in the muscle in preparation for the hard day that was to come and giving himself an even more vigorous scrub than usual. With a towel around his waist, he carefully shaved away the overnight growth of stubble. He had never considered himself to be up to date with the latest fashions, and now, standing in front of his wardrobe, he wished he'd paid more attention. There was nothing to be done about it; he selected his least worn pair of jeans and the nicest shirt he owned. There, that would do it. Casual, but presentable. Showing he had made a _little_ effort, but not too much that it could be construed as anything more than two friends heading out together. His one concession was the liberal amount of aftershave he sprayed.

He fed Isis her breakfast and rustled up something for himself, though he barely touched it as his insides writhed like live snakes. When nine o'clock crawled around, he locked the door behind him and, with Isis in happy tow, headed for the park where he had agreed to meet with Anna.

He had been waiting on the street corner for just a few minutes when a little battered Ka indicated to pull in. It rolled to a stop beside him, and the window wound down to reveal Anna. He couldn't help it; the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

" _This_ is your car?" he said.

"Yes," she said primly. "What's wrong with it?"

"Um, nothing." It had certainly seen better days, that was for sure.

She obviously read straight between the lines. "This car has served me very well for eight years, thank you very much. Say what you want, but she's never let me down, and I haven't needed to fork out thousands on some pretty Merc that's all style and no substance."

"Are you trying to insinuate that that's the kind of car I'd drive?" he asked, opening the passenger seat. The metal bucket only had two doors, and he tried to juggle keeping a tight hold on Isis' lead and pulling the passenger seat forward so he'd have enough room to shove her in the back. Isis was making it more difficult than it needed to be by winding incessantly around his legs and almost taking his cane out from under him. "I'll have you know that I prefer comfort over speed."

"Me too," Anna said absently. It was then that he realised the inadvertent double entendre of his words, and busied himself with shoving Isis into the back seat unceremoniously. She whined, and he slammed the seat back before she could try to climb back out. With great difficulty, he folded himself into the front seat, managing to jam his cane between his knees. He'd had a few more uncomfortable journeys than this one, but not many.

"Good God, how do you manage in this?" he grumbled, struggling to fasten his seatbelt.

"Oh, stop complaining. You can drive next time if you're just going to sit there insulting my car when we've been kind enough to offer to take you."

He rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of her referring to herself and the car as one. She was madder than he'd thought she was.

Bit by bit, however, he began to enjoy the journey. He cracked open the window as far as it would go—Anna informed him that it had got stuck a long time ago—and enjoyed the breeze against his forehead as they cruised down the motorway. The radio was on, and Anna hummed along to the band playing, occasionally breaking out into song if she liked a particular line. She had a high, sweet voice, sweeter than birdsong at dawn, and although he had never heard of the band, he couldn't help but feel blessed that he had been allowed that small, intimate glimpse of her personal life.

It was dangerous but, for today, he told himself that he could enjoy it. Just for today.

It took them just over ninety minutes to reach their destination. Living in a sprawling metropolis like London had never given him many opportunities to visit the seaside, and he had never been to Whitby before. He voiced as much as he gathered Isis' lead whilst Anna locked the car door behind her—manually, of course. Her eyes glowed as she looked across the roof of the car at him.

"Oh, you'll love it!" she said enthusiastically. "It's my favourite seaside resort! It's so nice and quaint! And I bet you'll love the ruins of the abbey, what with its ties to _Dracula_! The view from the top is spectacular too, though it nigh on kills you to get up there."

He probably wouldn't have much luck making it, then. Anything more strenuous than an even keel was likely to ruin his knee for at least a week. Still, he was touched that she wasn't treating him like an invalid. It made a change for his knee not to be side-eyed as if it was about to give out under him at any moment. He was so tired of being seen as less than a man.

And, God, she looked so beautiful. It was the first time he had been afforded a proper look at her, and it hit him full force. The weather, although temperamental at this time of the year, certainly hadn't held her back; she was clad in a spaghetti-strap t-shirt and a pretty floral skirt that ended mid-thigh. No tights protected her legs. He swallowed hard as his gaze drifted along them. They were made longer by the thick wedges she had on her feet, adding a couple of inches to her small stature. Long blonde curls fell naturally around her pale shoulders. Dimly, he realised that it was the first time that he had ever seen her with her hair down. She was truly gorgeous.

"Sounds good," he found himself agreeing, not wanting to break the magic of the moment, finally managing to tear his eyes away from her. He felt dazed, as if he'd just suffered a blow to the head. He had to snap out of it. He was being ridiculous. Friend, he reminded himself firmly. Anna was just a good friend. And good friends didn't go around ogling each other. He was as bad as every other man if he continued to leer at her in such a manner. It soured his passion instantly, and he busied himself with Isis. Together, they walked into the heart of the town.

Anna was right: it was a beautiful place. It captured his heart immediately. The old, ramshackle cottages were so very dear, and he was enamoured with the way that Anna spouted out random bits of information about the town's history as the ambled along.

"You really know your stuff," he remarked, and she blushed prettily.

"I don't know about that," she demurred. "But I used to come here every single year. These things sink in after a while, I guess."

"So was it a family holiday destination?"

She nodded. "It was when I was a girl, yes. I used to love it here so much. I used to want to move here, but obviously we never did. I wish we had, though."

"Oh?"

"Dad died in a work accident when I was six," she said, not looking at him. "If we'd lived here, he wouldn't have had that job anymore."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," he managed. He truly was. There was nothing quite like the pain of losing precious members of the family. God, he couldn't even bear to think about losing his mother. His father, at least, had been a waste of space, and had been no real loss to his young life.

"Don't be," she said, slightly muffled, as if she was trying to contain her emotions. "It happened a long time ago now. I learned to accept it."

"It still doesn't mean that it hurts any less."

"Time heals all wounds, Mr. Bates."

"I think we both know that that isn't true. If it was, no one would ever know sorrow for long. Just because it doesn't govern us the same way it does when something is raw doesn't mean that the wounds have ever fully healed. Scars are always left behind."

"You sound as if you're speaking from experience."

He shrugged. "Aren't we all, in our own ways?"

She seemed to sense that it was a topic that he didn't want to discuss, not today. Instead she bumped her shoulder gently against his arm.

"We should take Isis to the beach," she said. "Dogs love playing in the sand, right?"

"Sure," he said, grateful for the change in tack.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

With that, she pulled him towards the seafront. He was happy to let her lead. Isis' excitement grew with every moment that passed. There were so many new sights and sounds and smells for her that it was sending her haywire, and she was almost impossible to control. At last, John gave up the lead to Anna, the strain too much on his knee, and it took her having both hands on the lead to contain her.

"Do you think it's safe to let her off the lead?" Anna panted as they took their first steps down onto the sand.

John eyed Isis doubtfully. She looked up at him with those huge, innocent brown eyes, tongue lolling. The look did nothing to convince him. If they _did_ let her off the lead, she had no real loyalty to him. The likelihood of her listening to him if he called her was slim. But they would be in for a real headache if they tried to keep her leashed when there were so many exciting things around.

"I think we'll be okay if we keep her entertained," he said, more in hope than expectation. "We can still play fetch on the beach, right?"

Anna laughed. "Of course we can. Shall we risk it?"

"Yeah," he said. "I don't think we've got a choice, really."

Anna nodded, and bent down to unclip the leash. It was not an easy task. Isis kept wriggling and jerking her head around.

"Isis, stay still," Anna scolded her gently. "I'm trying to help you here!"

It took her several attempts, but at last Isis was free. Before John could even blink, she had given a joyful bark and sped off.

"Christ," he said. "I hope we've done the right thing."

"Maybe she'll listen to me," Anna suggested. "She seems to like me, after all."

"You'll probably have more luck with her than I will."

She patted his arm. "We'll be okay. You'll see. Now, let's get our shoes off."

He eyed her doubtfully. "What?"

"You can't walk on the beach without experiencing the whole thing properly. That's just not the done thing."

"I, um, don't actually like sand."

"You can't be serious!" she said, scandalised. "It's the best part of being at the seaside! I used to spend hours rolling in the sand and building sandcastles."

"I'm just not a fan of having sand wedged everywhere."

She raised her eyebrow. "Why, what were you doing in the sand to get it wedged everywhere?"

He felt his cheeks heating. "You know what I mean. It _does_ get everywhere. It's most uncomfortable."

"We're not going to be rolling about in it today, just walking on it. Please?"

She had puppy dog eyes that rivalled Isis'. At that look, John felt himself wavering. Would it really hurt that much? Yes, all right, it was something that he didn't like, but surely he could put up with it for a short while for Anna's sake…?

"Fine," he sighed. She squealed.

"You're the best," she said, hopping about first on one foot and then on the other as she removed her sandals. He was helpless to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, he bent down to remove his own shoes and socks. It was made harder with the presence of his cane, but he was grateful that Anna took absolutely no notice of what he was doing, bounding off into the sand instead to give chase to Isis. She really was like a big kid, and it was soothing on his worn heart. It had been so long since he had last seen someone taking such pleasure from the small things. Vera had poisoned everything good, had darkened everything until he couldn't see the beauty in anything around him. But she was gone now. And Anna was bringing the sunshine back to his life. Throwing caution to the wind, just this once, he dived in right alongside her.

And as much as he didn't want to admit it, he _had_ to admit that it was a lot more fun than he had envisaged it would be. The sand was gritty and not entirely pleasant beneath his feet, once he stood on a particularly nasty shell that wasn't buried too deeply beneath the surface, and his cane wobbled on the uneven surface, but it was a salve nevertheless. The salty breeze against his face felt so good, and Anna's shrieks rang high and clear in his ears as she gave chase to Isis, throwing sticks to be fetched. Isis was having the time of her life, dancing around her, barking incessantly, sending sand spraying upwards in a high arc as she dutifully fetched the sticks that had been thrown for her. He couldn't run and join in in the same way, but he didn't feel disengaged. Anna would turn and look in his direction, eyes dancing with laughter, constantly pushing strands of her hair out of her face, cheeks red, and it made the warm glow in his chest spread further. She came up to him, dodging behind him as Isis galloped up, covering him in sand. He swore, shielding his eyes.

"Let's go further towards the sea!" she said breathlessly. "We won't go in. I just want to feel it under my feet."

"Go, then," he encouraged.

"Not without you. Come with us, please."

He looked towards the water, where the tide was lapping up gently. "I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

"You're not going to fall," she said, reading his mind. "Trust me, John."

Trust. God, he did that so much. Perhaps he shouldn't, but it was impossible not to trust those calm blue eyes. Whether it was the right decision or the wrong one, he nodded anyway. She grinned at him.

"That's it," she said. "Come on, Mr. Bates."

With that, she took off running, Isis flexing her muscles and taking off after her like a world champion greyhound. He watched a moment longer before setting off at a much more conservative pace. By the time he had caught up with them they were splashing in the shallows together, Anna shrieking as the water splashed up over her clothes, drenching them thoroughly, Isis getting caught up in the waves and rolling back to shore, looking utterly confused with this turn of events. She looked like a little, bedraggled rat, and John focused on this rather than on Anna. It would not do to let his eyes stray to the way that her top was clinging to her so very perfectly…

But then she looked at him, and he was lost. Strands of her hair were slightly damp from Isis' enthusiastic splashing, and her cheeks were a pretty pastel rose. Her blue eyes seemed to burn brighter, as bright as the unusually cloudless sky above his head.

"I thought you said you weren't going in?" he said, his tongue clumsy in his mouth.

She pouted. "I can hardly help it if Isis got too overzealous. I must look a right state."

"You don't." The words slipped from his mouth without them meaning to, and he bit his tongue. He had to stop letting that happen. He could not let his guard down around her.

If Anna thought anything, she did not voice it; nothing in her demeanour changed.

"Join me," she said, holding out her hand to him.

For a moment, he was paralysed by fear. If he took her hand, that would be the end of him. He'd known it on an untapped level for some time now, but as long as he'd never had to acknowledge it, he'd been fine with it burning in the background. The invisible barrier between them had kept him safe, but to break through that…

Trembling, he reached through the space between them, and their fingers linked together.

It took everything within him not to involuntarily shut his eyes at that first contact. Anna's fingers were smooth and slight, deceptively strong. No doubt that came from the hours of hard work she put in every day caring for those around her. Compared with his hand, hers was so small.

He'd never felt anything more right than that.

His heart thumped loudly in his head, blood surging around his body, pulsing in his neck. Anna stared up at him, her head tilted back in the most enticing manner he had ever seen. It wold be so easy to close the distance between them, to bend down, to nudge his nose against hers, to finally— _finally_ —taste her sweet mouth.

"John?" she said.

He jerked out of his ruminations, shaking his head like a guilty criminal. "What?"

She was eyeing him curiously. "Are you sure you're okay?" she said.

"I'm fine," he said. "Fine," he repeated, as if doing that would make it truer.

"Of course you are," she said, a little frown creasing her forehead. She tugged on him. "Now, come on. The tide waits for no one."

She dragged him further into the water, and he flinched as the waves lapped over his ankles.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "That's like ice!"

She giggled. "What else were you expecting from the North Sea? We're not in the Bahamas now, John. More's the pity, really. I've heard that the beaches there are incredible."

"It wouldn't take much to beat these," said John, glancing across the sweeping landscape. Far from the golden, picturesque allure of foreign lands, the beaches here were dull and grey, more stone than sand, overrun with litter, sea the colour of dull iron.

"I'd love to go to the Bahamas," she sighed, tilting her head up as if she could feel the hot rays of the sun on her face. "It'd be paradise."

"The three 'S's," said John without thinking, then went hot all over as her head snapped back to look at him.

"What?" she said.

"I meant sun, sand, and sea, obviously," he said hurriedly.

He was obviously not fooling her with his desperate play at innocence. "I wouldn't say no to some of the other, though," she snorted.

He remained rooted to the spot, tongue-tied, the heat rising up to prickle in his head uncomfortably. Anna looked at him from under her lashes, wickedly coy.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed by the mention of sex," she said. "We women are always told how bad the boy talk is in the locker rooms."

He tapped his leg with his cane. "It's been a long time since I was last in a locker room, in case it had slipped your notice."

"Your shyness is kind of sweet," she cooed. "And rather refreshing, I might add. I've heard more than enough lewd jokes in the hands of men."

"One of a kind, me," he replied, eager to keep the conversation as far away from sex as possible. God, he'd had enough trouble keeping his thoughts pure in the last few weeks without her giving him an invitation to think about those pale, bare shoulders, her entirely too kissable neck, the other delicious delights that her clothes hid from his view…

"John?"

He had to focus. "Right, yes. I'm feeling up to venturing in just a little further, if you'd like." Perhaps the cold water would do him good after all. "Just promise that you won't let me wobble over. I'm not as steady on my feet as I used to be."

Her eyes lit up at that, and she linked their fingers more firmly together. Heaven. He allowed her to drag him further into the water, Isis yapping close at his heels, having the time of her life as she splashed about, her glossy coat saturated with saltwater. Anna shrieked with laughter every time the dog tried and failed to conquer the waves.

When had he last had fun like this? He genuinely couldn't remember. For a long time, he had forgotten what it was even like to laugh. There had been so many mistakes in his past weighing him down, demanding that he pay his penance. They were still there now, but at least this way, for short, golden periods, he could forget about the weight of those mistakes and focus on something good. Anna was that something good. He had never met anyone with such a zest for life. Everything she did she did with a smile. He had never yet heard her complain about anything. Standing there, with the sun shining on her hair and making it even more gold than usual, he was truly struck by just how much of an opposite she was to Vera. In the looks department, of course, where all they shared was an eye colour where even that differentiated between a cold icy blue and a warm summer ocean's, but also in personality. Vera had been greedy and grasping. Everything she had wanted had been out of selfish desire. He had fallen in love with the devil in her, but the devil always had a steep price for the hapless man to pay in the end. How he could have been attracted to two such extremes was beyond him, but it was there all the same.

He knew which one was better for him. If only he hadn't been so headstrong in the first place. That way, there might have been a chance.

"Come on, Isis!" Anna shouted. "Fetch the stick! Good girl!"

But Isis appeared to have had enough of that particular game, the futility of it boring her. Barking, she turned her back on the branch that floated sadly back to shore.

And launched herself at Anna.

It took them both completely by surprise. Anna yelped, stumbling backwards as Isis' whole body slammed into her. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she lost her footing in the wake of Isis' heavy, unexpected weight. John had a split-second to register that their hands were still joined together, that she was standing right there in front of him, before her whole body slammed into him. Already slightly unsteady on the sand, his cane scrabbled uselessly against the floor, only aiding him as he tipped backwards. He swore, Anna squealed, and before he had quite registered what had happened, he found himself flat out on the sand, the breath knocked clean from his body, Anna sprawled across his chest. It took a few seconds for the pain to rush to his disorientated brain, but when it had, he hissed. He had jarred something in his back, and it bloody _hurt_.

A pain that was significantly dulled when he found himself gazing up in to Anna's eyes.

They had landed in the sand in a tangle of arms and legs; her slight body was surprisingly firm and reassuring over his as she crushed the air from him. Gazing up at her, he found the rest of the world falling away. He could not feel the grittiness of the sand against his neck, getting in all of the uncomfortable nooks and crannies. He did not feel the coldness of the sea as it swept under him, nor the way that the salt stiffened his hair. He was deaf to the shouts of the children and the yells of the parents, to the squawks of the seagulls and the barks of the dogs. His world narrowed to her, and to the way that she felt against him.

These things did not happen in real life. They were reserved for fiction, Disney films where the intelligent animal brought together the two main characters of the story. In reality, the world did not slow to a stop, until all he could focus on was the pink fullness of Anna's bottom lip.

And yet this was defying all odds anyway. He stared at her, shadowed by the sun, and found himself paralysed by her. She propped herself up against him, all pretty indecisiveness, and chewed at the very lip that he had been fantasising about kissing. And then—Christ, was he imagining it?—she began to lean down, just the slightest bit…

A spray of sand arced up over them, and Anna swore, toppling from him to hit the ground beside him. John pushed himself up into a sitting position, and was rewarded a faceful of stand for his efforts.

"Shit!" he cursed, closing his eyes to prevent any of the dangerous grains from getting in there. "Isis, bloody well pack it in!"

She yapped, ears pricked and tail jaunty, and he didn't know whether to curse her or thank her.

Thank her, the nasty little voice in his head told him. He had been on the brink of losing himself there. That could not happen. He was not made for happy endings. If he had allowed his imagination to run away with him, if he'd actually leaned in to kiss her…well, it would have spelled the end of everything.

He didn't dare look at her as he pushed himself to his feet, staggering as he found his balance once more. His cane had fallen a short distance away and he bent to pick it up, wielding it as if it was his defence against the world. In many cases, it could well be. Here, now, it was a stark reminder that he could not allow his imagination to run away with him. Reality had its own cruel dictations that he had to heed.

"Are you all right?" he asked her gruffly, still keeping his eyes away from her as he waited to hear her assessment.

"Yes," she said, and he heard her scrabbling about as she got to her own feet. He took one last breath to compose himself before turning back to her, pasting on a smile. There was nowhere he could run and hide now. He had to face this head on.

"Isis strikes again," he tried to joke. "She seems to have a real thing for sending you flying."

Anna pouted. "I know. Thankfully there's no blood this time."

"Thank God. I haven't got a handkerchief with me today."

She pushed her hair out of her face with a grimace. "On the negative side, I wasn't intending on getting sand in my hair today. It feels horrible now."

"It still looks lovely," he said automatically, turning to stare out at the sea. Right now, it wouldn't be a bad idea to get lost out there…

Anna's voice interrupted his mortified thoughts. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I've had more than enough beach excitement for one day. What do you say to us getting back to dry land and seeing what else Whitby has to offer us?"

"Good idea," John agreed. "I don't think this has endeared me to the beach any more than I was before."

"I've got no chance of dragging you back here again, then?" she asked, tongue in cheek.

"Well, I never said 'no chance'," he replied, refusing to allow his voice to waver and betray the tumultuous cacophony of emotions that were swirling around inside him. He limped back to the spot where they had left their shoes, Isis dancing around their heels and almost tripping them up again as she charged to and fro. If John was sentimental, he'd almost think that the bloody dog was grinning. She seemed far too pleased with herself for causing such mayhem.

They dusted themselves off as best they could before John wrestled the lead back on to Isis' collar. It was a struggle to drag her away from the beach—damn dog just didn't want to come—but at last they were on safe land again. Once back, John felt himself relaxing just slightly. This was better. This was safer. Up here, it was as if the incident on the beach had been nothing more than a dream. Already the memories had started to take on fuzzy qualities. It helped that Anna's demeanour hadn't changed in the slightest. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she frowned.

"So, what do you want to do first?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You tell me. You're my tour guide. Take me wherever you think is nice."

She glanced at her watch. "Well, we've got a little time before dinner. How about we have a browse along the shops on the front? And we can go and find some fish and chips after that. Whitby has some of the very best."

"Sounds good," he said, deflating just slightly.

Her lips twitched. "Not a fan of shopping?"

"That obvious?"

"Just a bit. I promise I won't torture you for long. But shopping is different at the seaside. It's not like _real_ shopping. I won't be dragging you to look at dresses or asking what you think of an outfit."

"Okay," he said, more than a little glad about that fact; there was no doubt in his mind that she would look absolutely gorgeous in anything, and he was quite certain that he would make a fool of himself in that situation. Not to mention revealing more about the feelings in his heart than he ever intended. "Though I'm not sure what we can do with Isis."

"The place is really dog friendly," she reassured him. "You'll be able to tie her up outside and no one will touch her. She'll be fine just for a few minute at a time, I promise."

He trusted her judgement completely.

They spent a happy hour wandering around the shops Whitby had to offer. Despite himself, John found himself enjoying it. Anna was a wonderful companion, so quick-witted and fun. She bought several ridiculous mementos for the day, and he was enchanted by her. By her life, her soul. By how happy she made him in turn. When she pushed something into his hands—a globe of the ruins which he would have absolutely no use for—he was helpless to resist. Besides, what she said made perfect sense: a person couldn't be a tourist in a place if they didn't take some little token of the day home with them. As pointless as the globe was, it would forever serve as a reminder of this golden day, no matter what came in the future.

When midday had come and gone, Anna suggested, "Should we grab something to eat now?"

"Sounds like a good idea," said John. Breakfast seemed a long time in the past, and Isis would be in need of a drink and a brief rest. He wouldn't object to that for himself, either. He'd been on his knee for much longer than he usually was, and it would be sensible to give it a moment of respite.

"There's a great restaurant round here," said Anna. "We always used to visit it when I came here as a child, and it does some of the best fish and chips that I've ever tasted."

"Sounds perfect. Lead the way."

The restaurant in question was on the riverfront, with a lovely view of the Whitby Swing Bridge. But when they arrived, it was to disappointment. The waiter, standing at the front to greet the patrons as they came in, curled his lip at them.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid you can't come in," he said.

"What do you mean?" Anna asked, surprised.

He gestured at the two of them. "The dog, for one thing. It can't come in here."

"Oh," said Anna. "I thought you were supposed to be dog friendly? You were the last time I came."

He ignored her. "And secondly, we simply can't allow you to come in here looking like you do."

John glanced down at himself, and then across at Anna. It was true that they looked more than a little dishevelled. Anna's hair looked a mess and her clothes were sand-stained, and his own were no better.

Anna pouted. "We fell over in the sand. We don't normally look like this, I can assure you."

"So I should hope."

"So can't you make an exception for us? Just this once? It's John's first time at Whitby and I'm showing him all the best places."

"How flattering that you think we're one of the best places. Unfortunately, no amount of flattery will budge me on this one. If we make just one exception for you, we'd have to make just one exception for everyone, and that simply won't work. We have a reputation to uphold, and we won't have that tarnished for anything—not even someone's first visit to Whitby."

Anna opened her mouth to argue, but John touched her arm. She seemed to come back to herself.

"It's okay," he said softly. "We'll find somewhere else to eat. We need somewhere that we can take Isis, anyway."

She bit her lip for a moment before acquiescing. "Okay." Without another word to the waiter, she turned on her heel and stalked away. John glanced at him to find him smirking in a most sickening manner. He shook his own head in disgust and moved away. Self-righteous prick.

Outside, Anna looked disconsolate. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"What are you sorry for? Don't be silly."

"But I wanted you to have the best fish and chips in town."

"That doesn't matter to me. I'd rather have the best company in town."

His words, corny and saccharine as they were, raised a smile to her face. She tilted her chin up towards him. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do. You've been a wonderful guide. There are plenty of takeaway fish and chip places to enjoy. I vote we go to one of those and enjoy our spoils out in the fresh air. We'll have an even better view of that bridge from there. How does that sound?"

Anna's face was practically glowing. "Great. Let's go."

They found a takeaway that tickled their fancy not too much further down the strip. John gave responsibility of Isis over to Anna whilst he queued for their meals, though it wasn't without some protest from her.

"I suggested the day out," she said. "I should be the one to pay for the food."

"That's where you're wrong. You're the one who drove us here, so _I_ should be the one to buy us the food. And I will. You won't be able to sway me on that. Go and find Isis something to drink, then meet me back here. You'll be done before I am."

They argued back and forth a few more times before Anna conceded defeat, though she didn't look entirely happy about doing so. John watched her walk away, and refused to let himself linger on the thought that buying her food almost made it seem like a true date.

The line moved slowly, and Anna was indeed back before he had even made it inside the shop's door. She waved at him and indicated a low wall. He nodded in reply. It did look like a nice place to sit and eat, after all. They'd have a nice view of the harbour, and of the boats that were coming in and out. There would be enough activity to keep Isis occupied whilst they ate.

At last, he made it to the front of the queue and placed his order—two portions of fish and chips, a big bottle of pop for them to share, as well as a sausage for Isis. Not strictly the best thing for her, but he knew that Robert took her health very seriously and he figured that just this once it wouldn't hurt her too much. The owner was kind enough to bag it all up for him so he didn't have to worry about how he would transport it back to their spot. Thanking him, he snatched up the carrier bag and limped back into the warm sunshine.

"Here we are," he announced as he navigated the low wall to sit beside Anna. "Dinner is served, milady."

"I'm starving," she sighed as he rustled about in the bag and withdrew the plastic carton for her. She practically snatched it from his hands and tucked in immediately. He had to marvel at her. Here she was, thin as a rake and eating like a horse. He was rather jealous. He had never been able to eat what he wanted without thinking of the consequences. He started on his own at a much more sedate pace. Isis whined, looking up at him with huge, accusing eyes.

"No," he grumbled, "I haven't forgotten about you. Here." He tossed the sausage at her, and she attacked it with gusto. "Don't you dare tell anyone that I've given you that, either. I'd be lynched."

"Yeah, it's not the best thing to feed her," said Anna.

"I know, I know. But it's just a one-off. R—I mean, _I_ keep her on a very strict diet. So I think it'll be okay as a one-off."

"Your secret's safe with me," said Anna. "It's a good distraction. If she's like most animals, she'd practically climb all over us for a taste of what we've got anyway."

They ate in companiable silence, passing the pop between them as and when they wanted it. John tried not to shiver too much at the realisation that he was putting his mouth where Anna's had been just moments before; it was the most intimate that they would ever be. It soured some of his happiness somewhat. Between their feet, Isis guzzled down her sausage, looking very content with her world. If only he had such simple things to worry about.

"Are you all right?" Anna asked. "You're looking very pensive."

He came out of his reverie to find her staring at him with a frown of her own on her face.

"I'm okay," he said quickly. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"About what a beautiful place this is. And how I'm sure it'll prove most inspiring for what I plan to write."

"I do hope so. It would be lovely to read about this place in your own words one day."

"I wouldn't expect you to read anything I write if you didn't want to."

Her tone was exasperated. Almost loving. "Silly beggar. Of _course_ I want to read what you write. And I'll be able to tell everyone that I'm friends with you when you become famous."

He snorted. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves there. I'll be happy if I sell enough to survive on." He'd gambled his whole living on this, unable to get a job elsewhere with his leg.

"You will," she said confidently, then leaned across to pinch a chip.

"Hey, you have your own!" he cried in mock indignation.

"Actually, I've eaten all mine," she said, showing him her empty carton.

"Bloody hell, where do you put it all?"

She shrugged. "I'm talented."

"That's one word for it," he grumbled.

"And you won't voice the others if you know what's good for you."

"I'm not a total idiot."

"Good. Now give me another chip."

"Tell you what, take what's left," he said, pushing the carton towards her. "I've had my fill." Which wasn't strictly the truth, but it was more than worth it to see the delighted look on her face as she took his offerings onto her lap. She wolfed down the rest in record time and finally sat back with a contented sigh when she'd done. John gathered the empty wrappers together and shoved them in the plastic bag. They sat there for a little while longer, letting their meals settle, trading idle chitchat back and forth. John couldn't remember a day when he'd been more content with his life.

At length, Anna pushed herself to her feet.

"Right," she said enthusiastically, "should we give the stairs of doom a go?"

"If you'd like," said John, not without a hint of trepidation. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself in front of her—or, worse, show himself up to be the lame, unfit man he'd always known he was.

"It'll be worth it if we can make it to the top," she said. "It's so beautiful up there. But we'll take it nice and steady. There's always another time."

Another time. As if this could become a regular occurrence. "Sounds good," he said, voice wavering just slightly.

Together, they took a slow amble across town towards the bottom of the infamous stairs. With every step, John found his sense of apprehension growing. He couldn't think of anything worse than failing at this. But it was too late to back down now. He was committed, whether he wanted to be or not.

The journey was worse than he'd even imagined it could be. The steps were steep, and each one sent a jolt of burning pain through his knee as he scrambled up them. Anna thoughtfully kept pace with him, but it did not make him feel any better; no doubt if he hadn't been there she would have been up them in a trice. The running kept her fit, and he was woefully aware of just how much he'd let himself go in recent years. He could feel the sweat dripping down his temples, and he was sure that his red face and ragged breathing made him a less than attractive sight.

Halfway up, Anna brought them to a stop.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked in concern.

Shame made him cold. It had always dented his pride when people stopped and asked him that question, especially in the middle of strenuous tasks. It let him know that other people saw him as weak and incapable. He had always hoped to avoid that with Anna.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure? We could head back down. Or pause a moment. I could do with a rest as well."

She didn't look like the ascent had bothered her in the slightest. "I said I'm fine. Keep going. Look, go on ahead with Isis. I'll catch you up."

"Are you sure?"

"Very. Take her." He could feel the shame thick at the back of his throat now, and knew that he had to get away from her before he embarrassed himself even further. Isis whined and tried to twine herself around his legs but he pushed her away, handing her lead over. Anna didn't look any more convinced, but thankfully she didn't raise another question. She simply nodded slightly and tugged on Isis' lead.

"Come on, girl," she said softly. "Let's carry on, hmm?"

Isis looked behind her sadly as she was led away. John waited until they were almost out of sight before rubbing his temples in frustration, moving to the railings at the side before he could be buffered by the other climbers. Christ, he was royally fucking this up. Why did he always lose his temper? Unlike others, he knew that Anna had not meant him any harm. And now he had behaved like a prat. His mother always told him that his hot Irish temper would be his downfall. He did not want that to be the case here. Anna had been such a positive influence on his life, and if they had to part then he did not want it to be because his pride had got the better of him.

"Bloody pillock," he chided himself as he resumed the excruciating climb. He'd have to apologise to her and hope that she didn't hold his mood against him. The last thing he wanted to do was spoil a lovely day out.

At long last, he scaled the final step in the hundred and ninety-nine that led up to the abbey. Sticky and uncomfortable as he was, his poor mood vanished upon setting eyes on it for the first time.

It was beautiful.

He'd seen it in pictures before, of course, and had even read about it both in fiction and in non-fiction, but it could not compare to seeing it with his own two eyes. Majestic and dilapidated, it cut a lonely, regal figure set so far above the town. People swarmed around, taking pictures, touching the stones, walking around its perimeter, each and every one in awe of its beauty. He could well imagine how formidable it had been in its heyday, before the destruction it had seen at both the hands of English kings and German battlecruisers.

Anna was loitering by one of the huge rocks that surrounded the area. Taking a deep breath, he limped over to her.

"You're right," he said by way of apology. "I love it. It's gorgeous."

She cast him a tentative smile. "I'm glad."

"Do you think we can rest a moment?" he asked her. "My leg is hurting." He had to be totally transparent with her. It was the only way he could earn her forgiveness. For this, at least. He dreaded to think about how many more times he would have to ask her for it. And there was no guarantee that he would get it next time.

"Okay," said Anna. "I think Isis might like a little rest as well." She sat herself down on the rock and Isis flopped onto her belly with a sigh. John followed suit, sitting himself down beside Anna, not quite close enough to touch.

Close enough to draw strength from her.

"We left my father when I was about six," he said softly. "He wasn't a good man, but I loved him. He was my hero, I suppose like any father is to his son. I would have done anything for him, but he wouldn't have done the same for me."

"You don't have to tell me this—" Anna said, sounding horrified, but he ignored her. It was the only way.

"He treated my mother like dirt at times. It wasn't always like that. It never is with abusers, is it? They're nice enough that sometimes you almost forget about what they're capable of. You think you've worked through it and come out the other side in one piece. You think you have enough love to change them where everyone else has failed before. He shouted a lot and if I misbehaved he gave me the belt. Mother always tried to stop him but he turned on her too. Usually he was drunk when he did those things and I think that's how we tried to justify his behaviour. But once he hit me when he was stone cold sober and it was the final straw. We moved to London and disappeared."

"Oh, John," Anna whispered. He could hear the crack in her voice.

"My mother gave me the best upbringing she could manage, and I loved her for everything she did for me. But I was not an easy boy to live with. I started getting into trouble in my teenaged years. Fights, anti-social behaviour, a couple of police cautions. It was so stupid, really. I was a good student and I wasn't behind the doors. I could have gone to university, but I suppose I was a bit of a lost soul and I didn't really know what I wanted. My temper always got the better of me, too. In the end I decided to join the army. I suppose I thought if I could wander like the lost soul I was, it would make me feel better, but it didn't. And after I was injured, well, I got even worse. I'm not telling you this to justify my actions. I'm telling you because I'm trying my damnedest not to let my temper get the best of me over the smallest things. I've made a lot of progress, but I still have a long way to go. And my leg has always been a touchy subject. I've never quite come to terms with going from a fully able-bodied man to less."

"But you're not less," she protested at last. "It's never impeded you on any of the things that truly matter. I admit, I'm not in your shoes so I can't be sure of how I would feel, but from where I'm standing you've never let it get the better of you, and I have so much admiration for the way that you don't let it define you."

"Maybe I don't let it define me, but it certainly limits me."

"Only if you let it. You got up those stairs, didn't you?"

"I might be regretting that tomorrow."

"Maybe you'll regret the discomfort. But you won't regret the experience. I know the kind of man you are, John."

God, if only she did. He cleared his throat, pushing those thoughts away. "Well, thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

She shrugged. "I'm just telling the truth."

For long moments, there was silence between them. He kept his gaze on the beautiful ruins in front of him. Bram Stoker had found his inspiration here. What had run through that prodigious man's head as he had penned one of the greatest novels of all time? What other things had helped him to craft some of the most iconic characters? Had he drawn on any personal memories as well as social commentaries?

How strange it was, the way that personal experiences shaped the courses of whole lives.

"I told you that my dad died when I was six."

Anna's voice took him by surprise; he had not expected her to speak, and he had certainly not expected her to bring that topic up again, with that edge to her voice which suggested that she was about to reveal even more.

"You did. And I really am so sorry," he said. "That's awful. There's not much worse."

She shrugged. "It's not on the same level as you. At least I knew that my dad loved me. That was never in doubt."

"Which makes yours hurt more," said John.

"And heals us in the end."

"Can I…can I ask what kind of work accident it was?" he asked softly. "Please don't answer if you don't want to."

"It's fine. It happened two decades ago now. There was some faulty machinery, and it crushed him."

"That's awful."

"It was bad for us. It turned out that it was Dad's fault because he hadn't checked it over properly, so we weren't entitled to anything. Dad's money was the only thing keeping us afloat and we lost it. So we lost the house too, and everything else."

"That must have been hard."

"It was. We were barely keeping our heads above water."

"But you managed."

Anna's smile was twisted; he had never seen an expression on her face quite like that before. It was disconcerting. "Oh, yes, we managed, thanks to Greg."

"Greg?"

"Mum got a new boyfriend, a couple of years after Dad died."

"And I take it you didn't get along?"

"You could say that." Anna fell silent for so long that he thought she might not carry on. He would not have pressed her, but at last, she said softly, "He…he touched me."

" _What!?"_ John surprised even himself with the volume of his shout; several people turned to look at them. He glowered at them until they turned away, then rounded back on Anna. The blood pulsed furiously through his veins. His stomach swirled around, sick and cold. Anna would not meet his eye.

He couldn't comprehend it. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_.

"Did he…?" he began, unable to form the words, dreading the answer.

She shook her head quickly. "No. He didn't…you know. I was…I was lucky."

"Don't say that. It makes it sound like it was less than it was."

"It could have been more than it was."

"But it doesn't detract from the fact that you were…you were abused." The word got stuck in his throat, like tar. Abused. Not even once had the notion ever crossed his mind. Anna was so sunny, so bright, that it was simply inconceivable. She was not a typical survivor.

Then again, what constituted a typical survivor? Were they not force-fed the image every day? Didn't they swallow it whole? Oh, yes, the boy who'd grown up in a bad family. The girl who found the wrong crowd. Drugs, prostitution, exploitation. How often did people really believe that the perfect home life harboured the most heinous of all secrets?

Without even thinking about it, he reached across and placed his hand on top of hers, which were knotted together in her lap. She started a little, evidently not expecting the gesture, and although his heart was palpitating madly, he did not pull away. It was the only way he could think to bring her even a modicum of comfort. He hoped that she felt it.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be. You can't change the past. What happened happened. I've learnt to deal with it."

"You shouldn't have had to."

"No," she conceded, "I shouldn't. But I didn't let the bastard win. I didn't let it govern my life. I didn't let it turn me bitter. I learned to embrace every moment I had. And I nailed him in the end."

"You did?"

She nodded. "When I was eighteen. It was the scariest thing I'd ever done, but also the most exhilarating. I couldn't let him do that to anybody else. I'd been too afraid before, but not then. He got two years in prison."

"Two years?" John exclaimed, disgusted. Two years. How could that even be? How could someone do that to a _child_ and barely lose anything for it? If he could have his way, he'd let them all rot there. "That's nothing!"

"It was something to me," she said. "And he'll have a criminal record for the rest of his life. He'll never be allowed near children. If I saved even one more child from going through what I had to go through I'd be happy."

"You should be proud," he corrected her. "You did the bravest thing of all."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For a long time afterwards, I didn't feel brave. But I didn't want to let it govern my life, either. I wanted to be like a normal girl. With that hanging over my neck, I couldn't be. So I had to do something about it. And I had a great support network around me."

"Your family?"

"My friend and her family first. My own after a time. Mum didn't want to believe it, not initially. He twisted it to sound like I was bearing a grudge against him because he was replacing my dad."

"Vile," he growled. Every word she spoke made his blood boil. If he could, he'd hunt the bastard down and rip him limb from limb himself. He deserved nothing less. To know that Anna, his Anna, had suffered so much…

He stopped himself here. She wasn't 'his'. He had no right to her, and never would.

"Mum came around in the end," Anna continued. "And I forgave her. She's my mum, at the end of the day, and I love her."

Which was bloody generous, in his eyes. He'd find it harder to forgive. He would never have children himself, but he could not even conceive not believing them if they told him something of such magnitude.

"You've a kind heart, Anna Smith," he said.

"I don't know about that. I just want to live my life without shadows."

"And you will, one day," he said. "I'm sure your happiness is just around the corner."

"I'd like to think so," she replied. "I'm getting to an age where I'd quite like to start settling."

He snorted. "What are you? Twenty-four?" He'd never quite dared to ask her before, afraid that it would make him feel even guiltier about the things that were growing inside him.

"Twenty-six," she corrected him. He did the mental maths. She was sixteen years younger than he was. It did not make him feel any better.

"There you are, then," he said. "You're just a spring lamb, aren't you? You'll have no trouble finding someone. Aren't there any young doctors catching your eye?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone assume doctors and nurses will hook up? I guarantee that it doesn't happen nearly as often as people think it does."

"I hope I haven't offended you."

"Oh, you haven't. Don't worry. But I'm not interested in a doctor."

"So that means you're interested in someone?" The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them, and his heart hammered in his chest. He did not want to know the answer to that question, but he was compelled all the same. If she told him who she was interested in, perhaps that would be enough for him to put this whole mad thing behind him. He could stop pining after her like a lovelorn puppy. He could face the reality that they could never be together once and for all. And he'd be happy for her, of course. There was no feasible way for them to be together. At least this way they would be safe.

"I might be interested in someone," she said, plucking at a tuft of moss that grew out of the rock.

"And do I get a name?" he managed around the lump in his throat.

"No," was the swift reply. "I haven't given anyone a name, not even my flatmate. I want it to be my little secret for a while longer."

"Probably a smart move," he murmured, not without a tinge of disappointment. A name, that was all he needed. The name would make it real. Irrefutable. Over. "I just hope that he treats you right when the time is right. You deserve nothing less."

"I'm sure he will," she said. "But I'm not in any real rush to find out. I know the value of taking things slowly. We've both got to be on the same page before anything like that can happen. I can be patient and bear anything."

"There aren't many like you."

She shrugged. "I've learned the hard way about it. Maybe it's because of what happened, but I've always been a one-man kind of girl. I haven't done much dating, really. A few here and there, but never past the first, and I've only ever had one boyfriend."

"Really?" he said. That both surprised him and didn't. It did not surprise him that Anna wanted monogamy and commitment. She had never struck him as the kind of woman who enjoyed keeping her options open and had a string of broken hearts trailing behind her. He _was_ surprised that she hadn't had many dates in her time. He'd thought the men of Downton stupid when he'd just started to get to know her; now he thought them downright brainless. She was charm and grace, and the strength she had exhibited by letting him into the part of her life that she had today simply took his breath away.

"Really," she said. "I met my serious boyfriend a few months after the trial. We were together for five years but it didn't work out. And the dates afterwards didn't really spark anything in me. I just went on them for the sake of it, really. And I admit that there was a little bit of peer pressure from my flatmate. She keeps trying to set me up with someone at the moment, and I'm not sure how much longer I can dodge the bullet."

"Oh." John wasn't really quite sure what else he should say to that; indeed, wasn't even sure if he _could_ add much more beyond the rise of bile in his throat. That was another pitfall to navigate. She could very well concede to going on the date despite this mystery man she was interested in and have the time of her life. In a few weeks' time, she could be glowing in the thralls of first love.

Which was what he wanted for her, of _course_ it was, but even if he could only admit it to himself, it would sting a little.

A lot.

"What about you?" she said. "You've been in Downton for a while now. Any romantic entanglements on the horizon?"

He snorted, a touch bitterly. "Oh, no. I'm past all that."

"I don't think that's true."

"Well, it is. I am content to live my days out in quiet solitude."

"There's nothing wrong with that if it's truly what you want. But if it isn't…well, there shouldn't be anything stopping you from going out there and chasing those dreams. It's never too late for love."

"I have to respectfully disagree with you there. I have made far too many mistakes in the past to be worthy of a second bite of the cherry."

"Disagree if you want. But I think there are very few mistakes out there that are as unforgivable as all that."

"You don't even know what I've done."

She raised her eyebrows at him, a challenge. "I'm very intuitive. And I think you're more than worthy of a second chance if you were only brave enough to reach out and grab it."

It sounded so simple when she said things like that. He allowed himself to fantasise it for a moment, to think about what it would be like if he closed the gap between them and captured her mouth with his own. Where he would put his hands. How she would respond. What he would say in the aftermath.

"John?"

He shook his head. It was all fruitless.

"Come on," he said gruffly. "I think we've had enough heavy talk for one day. We're supposed to be having fun here. And I know that I've been a grumpy arse, but I promise that that's the last of it. Let's explore these ruins and you can tell me a little bit more about their history. And that tonibell van didn't escape my notice on the way up. What do you say we get ice cream as a reward for making it up and down when we're back at sea level?"

"I'd say that it's a fantastic idea. But it's going to be Mr. Whippy, isn't it?"

"What do you take me for? Of course it is! With ninety-nine and all."

"Now you're talking." Anna slid off the rock and landed daintily on her feet. Isis clambered to hers and cocked her head to one side, watching him enquiringly. He slid off too, with more difficulty, groaning as he put his full weight back on his knee. Oh, he was going to pay for this later.

But somehow none of that mattered as Anna reached out to squeeze his hand.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"What are friends for?" he managed, caught up in the softness of her skin against his.

If only it could be more than that.

If only.

* * *

It had been a lovely, long day. It was gone eight in the evening when Anna finally turned on to Downton Park Road once more, and John could safely say that he'd never had a more enjoyable time. Whatever his anxieties, whatever the bumps in the road, it had been a wonderful experience.

"Thank you," he said as she rolled the car to a stop. "I'm glad you convinced me to do this."

"Me too," said Anna. "I really enjoyed myself."

"So did I. And I think Isis did as well." He glanced into the back seat to find the dog still sprawled out. She'd fallen asleep at some point on the way home, and she had been out like a light ever since. Robert would have a nice, easy evening with her. It was a shame to wake her, really, but all good things had to come to an end and there was no way of delaying this any longer. With a heavy heart, he opened the car door and extracted himself with great difficulty. He pulled the seat forward and shoved his head and shoulders in just enough to pat Isis' haunches.

"Come on, girl," he said. "Time to get up."

Isis blinked open her eyes and whined sleepily. It took him several difficult moments to haul her out of the car, and he snapped the leash onto her collar quickly as they stood on the pavement.

"Thanks again," he said to Anna through the open window. "See you Monday?"

She nodded. "You will. Safe trip home, John."

"You too."

He gave her a quick wave and turned on his heel, trudging down the path that would finally begin taking him to Robert's. God, he couldn't wait to get home. He'd have a nice, long soak in the bath to give his knee some respite. And he would spend tomorrow with it propped up, to finally give it a chance to heal.

As he moved, he heard a car door slam behind him, then hurried steps along the pavement. He half-turned in question.

"John."

It was Anna.

"What is it?" he said. "Did I forget something?"

"Yes," she said. "Here."

She closed the distance between them.

He had a moment to register the waft of her warm breath on his cheek, the sensual pull of her perfume, the softness—oh, God, the _softness_ —of her lips against his cheek as she lingered there. But before his brain had even started to catch up with what the hell was happening, she'd retracted back to her heels, turned her back, and walked away without even glancing over her shoulder. He remained rooted to the spot, his hand absent-mindedly coming up to touch the spot where her mouth had been just a second before. It tingled.

He was getting in way over his head.

* * *

But if he was worried that it would change the dynamic between them, he was wrong. Perhaps, on some secret, guilty level, that had been exactly what he had been hoping for. But the next time he saw her, Anna acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and he was far too scared to even contemplate bringing that kiss up for fear of it opening a whole can of worms that he could not confront.

And perhaps he was frightened of finding out that it had just been an impulsive, friendly gesture, something that Anna hadn't even thought twice about. In the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, he could admit that that was what he was terrified of. It was the best thing possible that he could not have her, but it did not stop the heart from wanting what it wanted.

He knew he was stupid for continuing to torture himself like this. What had started off as a casual friendship had turned into something that was uncontrollable. It could not go on. Deep down, he knew what he had to do. Confront this head on. Get everything out in the open. And whatever happened after that happened. It wasn't fate. It wasn't destiny. It was simply the way things had to be.

* * *

He met Anna in the park, the same as he did every day and, like she did every day, she took his breath away. Simply looking upon her was enough to soothe him these days. In her presence once more, he felt himself relax, though it did not quite quell the simmering anxiety in his veins.

Something must have shown on his face, however, for she reached out and touched his arm. It was like an electric shock; in this warmer weather he had started to wear t-shirts, and there were no layers to protect him from his follies.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Y-Yes," he said. "I'm just fine."

Isis sighed, as if she thought him silly, but he ignored her. What did she know? She was just a dog. It was true that there were things that needed addressing soon, but he could put them off for now.

Perhaps he could address them tomorrow.

* * *

June melted into a surprisingly hot July and their routine did not change. Every day that she was free, Anna met him for a walk. Their times had changed too; Ana had suggested that it would ne lovely to take a stroll in the evening sometimes, and she was right. It had raised a few eyebrows, but Robert had acquiesced.

"But you're going to have to let me walk her sometimes," he'd scolded. "Cora keeps complaining that I'm getting too fat, and I certainly don't want Isis liking you better than me! There is nothing more ill-bred than trying to steal the affections of someone else's dog!"

And so they sometimes strolled around in the pleasant evening heat, sharing ice creams as Isis loped through the lush grass. It was so romantic that he almost forgot that this wasn't a true reflection of the way things were.

Almost.

Because even if he _did_ want to escape it, the truth was there. Stark. Painful. They were not together. This—whatever 'this' was, for it was so difficult to put a label on—was not a real relationship. Yes, they flirted. They had fun together. They looked very much like the perfect couple as they walked around the duck pond, not quite touching. But it was just an illusion. He was Sisyphus, doomed to the same pointless longing for the rest of his life as punishment for his deceptions.

Sometimes these dark thoughts got the better of him, like a storm finally rupturing after an oppressive day. They plagued his every step, caught him in a stranglehold that he could never be free of. He wanted to be. Desperately. So many times he had found himself on the brink of admitting the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, the words _right there_ in his mouth…but each time he quailed. Fell short. Fell silent. He was in a web of his own making, a web that he would never be free of, and as selfish, arrogant, despicable as it was, he was terrified. Terrified of seeing the bond that had been built on dishonesty disintegrate right before his very eyes. Terrified of losing her. He knew he had to, one day. But each day he fought to cling to the lies that held them together, poisoning his body and mind each time he did.

The end surely had to be nigh.

* * *

Anna found herself at one of the most frustrating impasses she'd ever known in her life.

Everything about the time that she spent with John was wonderful. They had so many laughs, talked with each other as if they had been friends for years, not months. She had never felt as safe as she did when she was with him. He treated her in a way that she was simply not accustomed to. He did not want to just talk about himself. He was interested in _her_ , in how her day had been, in how she was feeling, in what she wanted to do. He was so much bigger than her, both in height and breadth, but he used those traits in such a careful manner. She felt protected when she was in his shadow, not intimidated as she might with any other man.

She couldn't help herself. She was falling harder with every meeting they had. It had not been part of the plan, but when did novels stick exactly to the journey that was mapped out initially? Detours were always taken, in meandering little side plots, in twists and turns that could not have been choreographed. She had told herself that they would only ever be friends—had even spoken those words aloud, firm—but there was nothing she could do to change the longings of her heart. She wanted John Bates, with every breath she took. It was not as simple as all that, not with the tangled web of lies that still stuck them together, but that was the truth at its simplest. She wanted him.

It was so hard not to act on those feelings, sometimes. When he looked at her a certain way, lips quirking in that self-deprecating manner, a dimple in his cheek, the loose strands of his hair flopping over his forehead…God, it took every ounce of self-restraint not to grab hold of him and kiss him for all she was worth. She wanted to gauge out whether he was interested before she did any of that.

It was just so _frustrating_. She tried to give him all the signs that she was attracted. She laughed at all of his jokes, even the ones that weren't very funny. She listened to him with rapt attention. She looked at him from under her lashes, brushed against him far more times than was necessary. She had kissed his cheek, for God's sake, and called their outing to Whitby a 'date'. Short of turning up with a sign around her neck that read, _I really, really fancy you, John Bates_ , she wasn't sure what else she could do to give him the hint.

Then again, maybe he wasn't just being oblivious. Maybe he was wilfully ignoring the cues. She _thought_ that he fancied her too, but she didn't know for certain. He did all sorts of things that surely any ordinary man wouldn't do when spending time with a friend…but, as she had discovered, John wasn't an ordinary man anyway. His own signs were all over the place. Sometimes he flirted up a storm with her. Others, he was distant and distracted and almost moody. It gave her a headache trying to keep up sometimes.

The rest of the time, she thought that perhaps he was too afraid to make a move. That made the most sense when she was calm enough to think about it rationally. He was incredibly self-deprecating. He seemed to see himself as a lone wolf, the kind of man who would never know love again. She had garnered enough information about his former life to understand that he did not feel worthy of a partner, that he likely saw himself as too broken to be of any use to anyone again.

She had to change that mind set. She had to make him see that just because someone was broken, it did not mean that they were any less beautiful or powerful. She had to help him see that if he was brave enough to break the binding shackles of the past, he could lead a happy, healthy life. A life that involved _her_. A _them_.

It was a wonderful pipe dream. They just had to find a way to overcome the lies and guilt and dishonesty that currently lay between them like a sleeping monster. If she could get close enough to break down those barriers…if he let her in just that tiny bit more…she was sure that victory was almost within touching distance.

It was time to clear the air between them. And she knew the perfect opportunity for that to happen.

Soon. Very soon indeed.

* * *

"Bates? Oi, Bates!"

John shook himself, coming out of his dismal reverie. "What?"

Robert was eyeing him suspiciously. "Have you been listening to a single word that I've said?"

"Of course I have!" he said.

"Then what have I just been saying?"

"Something about Cora's flowers," he said; he'd definitely heard them mentioned at some point this evening.

Robert scowled at him over his pint of lager. "That was ages ago. I'm talking about the garden party."

"I knew that," said John. Ah, so it was the garden party. He ought to have known, really. It was almost that time of the year. July would die in a brilliant burst of colour and heat, and August, with its lushness and Robert's garden part, would take its place.

"Of course you did," Robert said sarcastically. John took a pull of his Coke to avoid saying anything. They were currently sitting in the beer garden of Robert's favourite local pub, The Grantham Arms, after Robert had finally managed to convince him to leave his desk behind. John had to admit, it had been a refreshing change, and it was so good to soak up the warm summer sun with an ice-cold drink, but the darkness had started to creep back in. He forced those thoughts away now. It wouldn't do to make Robert too curious.

"Well, I'm with you now," he said. "What were you saying?"

"I was telling you the plans we had," Robert said, a touch grumpily. "Cora's booked all of the gazebos, and she's almost got the food sorted. I think this one is going to be our best one yet. And you're going to have to come this time! There's no excuse you can give to wriggle out of it!"

John's heart sank. Damn, it was true. Robert's garden parties always sounded like raucous and upbeat affairs, but it was far more removed from his ideal. He had never been one for huge gatherings, feeling the pressure to participate so acutely, and Robert never did anything on the small. In the years past, he had always cited the distance as the main reason why he could not attend, though Robert had always offered a bed for the night. Plus no one had really wanted Vera there, least of all himself. The last thing he'd ever wanted was for her to make a scene in front of those he respected the most, and that was simply inevitable. She'd disliked the Crawleys anyway, and her mouth turned even more vicious when she was drunk. She would have insulted everyone there and then no doubt gone on to accuse him of sleeping with whichever poor soul got caught in the crosshairs. Now he was living in Downton, however, there was no feasible way to dodge the bullet.

"Are you sure—" he began feebly anyway, but Robert fixed him with a look.

"You're coming and that's final," he said. "There are several people I want to introduce you to. I know you'll get on like a house on fire."

"Those people had better not be women!"

"Oh, you put such a damper on everything. So what if they are? Why are you determined not to enjoy your life?"

"That's not fair."

"It's very fair. You seem quite happy to let Vera beat you. It's ridiculous. You're divorced now. You don't live in the same area. What hold could she possibly have over you? You moved up here for a fresh start. So embrace it. Don't just exist. _Live_. I'm sure if you put some effort in, you wouldn't have a problem finding someone."

John snorted, filching in his pocket for a cigarette. "Right. How many women do you know that would overlook a prison record, a past life of alcoholism, _and_ a disability? Maybe one of them, but all three in conjunction? You're on another planet."

"And you're not giving the fairer sex enough credit."

"And _you_ instantly negate what you're saying by calling them 'the fairer sex'. We'll just have to agree to disagree on this one, Rob. I'm fine on my own. Really."

"Well, I'm not giving up hope. There are plenty of divorcees running in our circles. They've led such stuffy lives that I'm sure the 'bad boy' persona will appeal to them greatly. You don't have to find the love of your life at the first try. There's nothing wrong with a bit of casual fun if both parties are up for it. And believe me, their lives are so dull that they usually are. Especially the housewives. The things we hear at dinner parties, I tell you…"

"You are so painfully, obliviously sexist it beggars belief," said John, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. "Look, I'll come to your garden party on the condition that you don't try to shove anyone in my direction. Perhaps I'll entertain it in time, but I'm not quite ready yet."

Robert huffed. "You're only saying that to get me off your back, but if you'll come to the garden party I'll take that as half a victory and speak no more about it. Right, I think it's my round. What do you want?"

John held up his glass to indicate that he wanted another of the same, then heaved a sigh as he watched his friend walk away. Robert thought him stubborn, but he knew he was right in this. It wouldn't be fair to anyone to drop so much baggage on them. No one deserved that.

A part of himself that he could barely give voice to acknowledged that the longer he stayed single, and the longer Anna stayed single…

No. _No_. He had to stop thinking like that. He had to get it in his head that that would never be a possibility. Anna had already told him that there was someone that she was attracted to. Her mystery man wasn't a doctor, but so what? He did not know the circles she moved in. She could know lots of men through her friends. She had a life outside the bubble that encapsulated them when they were in the park.

But that day at the beach…she'd been leaning in towards him, he was sure of that…she'd let him put his hand over hers…she'd told him things that she'd never told anyone else…she'd kissed his cheek…

He had to snap out of it. He had to get it into his thick head that it was pure fantasy. He had to remind himself that someone like Anna, sunny and strong and sweet, deserved more from her life than someone like him, already well beyond his prime.

Below the line of the table, as if she could read his morose thoughts, Isis whined. She stood herself up, almost dislodging the table with her broad back—it did not seem as if she understood that she was no longer the size of a puppy—and rested her heavy head on his lap. John dropped one hand to fondle with her ears.

"I'm fine, girl," he said to her. "I'm fine."

It was not quite the truth.

* * *

The annual Crawley garden party was always a rowdy affair. Usually, Anna drank too much champagne, laughed too much at the stuffy old blokes, and got into some questionable antics with the Crawley girls, with Sybil mostly as their ringleader. The downside was trying to avoid the lecherous, groping hands of said stuffy old men who seemed to think that women were pieces of meat for their entertainment, but the pros usually outweighed the cons.

This year, there was an even greater incentive.

John would be there. Mary had confirmed it for her, and it had made her heart beat faster. This was it. The opportunity she had been waiting for.

That morning, she groomed herself even more carefully than normal. She washed and curled her hair. She'd been into town and bought herself a whole new outfit for the occasion, a little bit shorter and a little bit lower than she usually went for. Mary had raised her eyebrows when she'd seen it.

"Goodness," she'd said. "You're certainly going to attract the eye in that."

Anna wasn't entirely sure that it was meant as a compliment, but there was only one person's gaze that she wanted to draw, and she wanted him to like what he saw. To be a little bit flustered. To confront what he might be feeling. A pair of towering heels would complete the outfit. Hardly practical, but she wanted to do whatever she could to strike an imposing figure. Her small stature hardly lent to that. Today, she _really_ needed to be listened to and taken seriously. And if she could be on a more even footing with him, instead of always having to crane her neck to look at him, well, it could only be a bonus.

When she was dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror, tossing her head back defiantly. Yes, she looked good, even if she did say so herself. She certainly felt a lot more attractive than she usually did, when her normal attire was either her nurse's scrubs or her running clothes.

It would be hours yet until Mary was ready. She always liked to arrive stylishly late, to be the talking point of the whole party. Edith detested her for it, which only made her lap up the attention even more. Because of this, Anna had far too much time on her hands. Too much time to pen scenarios of how this could go. How there was the potential that he could be very, very angry with her. That this could be the thing to break them for good instead of bringing them even closer, to the place where she so desperately wanted the to be.

It was a chance that she had to take. This was not really living. All of these half-truths, the clandestine meetings, the guilt…No, it had gone on for too long already. If it did not work out, it would only prove that she had been seeing something that had never really been there.

If it did…

If it did, they would be reborn. Made stronger. _Together_.

Only time would tell. And it was creeping closer by the minute.

It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

The fourth day of August dawned bright and warm. John pulled back the curtains in his room to find the sun already blazing, even at this early hour. It did not make him feel any better. From seeing past photographs, Robert insisted on a strict, smart dress code. There would be no shorts or vest tops at this event. Not that he owned a pair of shorts, far too self-conscious about the scarring on his right leg. And not that he would ever be seen dead in one of those vest tops that middle-aged men seemed to think was acceptable apparel. Sighing to himself, he dragged himself to the shower. It promised to be a long, unenjoyable day. Not just that he would be forced to mingle with dozens of strangers that he didn't know, but also for the way that the drink would be flowing. He had been sober for five years now, but there were some days when it did not get any easier, and he did not enjoy being around other drunks. Still, he would paste on the best smile he could for Robert's sake, who had been such a good friend to him over the years. A friend he had certainly not deserved for many of them.

Noon came around much too quickly. Before he knew it, he was dragging himself across town to the sprawling Crawley home, his stomach heavy with nerves. The gates leading to the rambling land at the back of the property were thrown open wide, and Robert stood at the entrance, greeting each guest as they arrived. He beamed when he saw him.

"Bates, my dear fellow!" he bellowed. "There you are!"

"Hi, Rob," he said, trying and failing to inject some enthusiasm in to his tone. His friend did not seem to notice.

"Have a drink," he said, thrusting an ice-cold lemonade into his hands. "Come in, come in! There are so many people I want you to meet!"

He all but dragged John down the garden path, keeping up an incessant stream of chatter as they went. Faces blurred into one, all accents exactly the same, pinched and posh. It was if they were all carbon copies of each other. He tried not to look revolted as one group of men discussed the merits of fox hunting—completely barbarous, in his own opinion—and failed to impress with his lack of knowledge about rugby—he was a football man himself. And things only went from bad to worse.

Robert grabbed him in a vice. "There's someone else I want you to meet."

He groaned. "Please tell me it's not another of your university buddies. Rob, I can't take any more of them."

"No, it's not a university pal. You'll like this person, I'm sure of it."

It was as he was being marched across the lawn that he realised it, and swore, angry. "Robert! You bastard, I told you not to!"

"I don't know what you mean," Robert said. "I'm just introducing you to our circle."

"Like hell you are! You're trying to set me up! I told you how I felt about that!"

"I'm doing no such thing," Robert said, failing to sound innocent. "Anyway, you're going to have to say hello now. You'll look rude if you don't. Look, they've seen us now."

The woman in question was waving at them. John gritted his teeth.

"You're a bloody bastard," he said. "One of these days I'll swing for you, I swear."

"I could probably beat you now," Robert said breezily. "Now shut up and smile. If you know how to, that is, you miserable arse."

Before John could fire some choice words back, they were upon the group. Robert looked around at them all, a benign king in control of his empire.

"Here we are!" he said, as if he was introducing a celebrity.

"Hello, John," said Cora, sounding surprisingly welcoming. "It's good that you were able to make it."

"Thanks for inviting me," he mumbled half-heartedly, trying to avoid eye contact with her companion. The woman was staring at him hungrily, like a snake might paralyse a mouse.

"Well, _hello_ ," she crowed. "John, is it? _So_ nice to meet you. I'm Camilla."

Of course she was, John thought resentfully. Of course she had to have a pretentious name to go with these pretentious surroundings.

"Nice to meet you," he muttered. Robert scowled at him; no doubt he sounded disinterested. He couldn't bring himself to care.

Camilla only simpered. "Oh, I think we can do better than that, don't you? We're all friends here!"

Before he could act, she had stepped towards him, snatched his hand in a claw-like grip, stepped so close into his personal space that her huge, fake breasts were right against his chest, and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and he resisted the urge to instantly wipe his face, his nostrils cloyed with the stench of her perfume.

"What a pleasure it is," she purred, predatory. "And where have you been hiding all these years?"

"London," Robert put in unhelpfully. "He's recently divorced and was looking for an escape."

Camilla gave a grating, full-throated laugh. "Oh, I sympathise there. I'm a divorcee too. I suppose we're all looking for a place to escape." She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. He repressed a shudder with great difficulty, but he probably could have pulled a face of disgust and she wouldn't have noticed. "So, how are you finding the divorced life? It's so much more fun, isn't it?"

"I really couldn't say."

"Oh, you're clearly doing it wrong. If you spend some time with me, you'll soon find out how _good_ it can be!"

John felt sorry for her, really. She must be feeling very lonely to want to throw herself at him. He tried for a polite smile. "Oh, I'm not very adventurous, I'm afraid."

"He's being modest. That limp is a badge of honour. Saved my life getting that."

"My, how _brave_ ," she said. "I've always found the heroic type to be very attractive, you know. They have a desire to serve and do justice to every single task, don't they?" She smirked at her own innuendo, and John's neck prickled uncomfortably. He did not like this at all. Bloody Robert. He should never have trusted his word.

He was just wondering how the hell he could wriggle out of this one when he heard a cry behind him.

"Uncle John!"

Relief flooded his veins. If there was one person in this family who he could rely upon, it was sweet Sybil. She was hurrying towards them, a huge grin on her lovely face.

"Hi," he said, grateful for the distraction. "It's been ages since I last saw you, love. How was your latest trip?"

Her eyes danced. "Oh, it was brilliant! I had such a good time!"

Robert looked disapproving. "Just as long as it wasn't _too_ good."

Sybil's guilty, mischievous grin suggested that she'd definitely had some good times that her father wouldn't approve of, but it was best not to think on all that. Sybil was a young woman now; it was easy to still see her as the little girl with the pigtails. He had been in and out of the Crawley girls' lives when they were children, but Sybil had always remained his favourite, and it wasn't because she was his goddaughter. Where Mary and Edith could be vengeful and petty, Sybil simply wanted to be everyone's best friend.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," he said.

She beamed at him. "I will. Let's walk and I'll fill you in on all the details! You know Ireland, don't you? It'll be so nice to actually talk to someone who recognises all of the landmarks!"

Bless her heart. He'd known he could rely on her to hook her out of an uncomfortable situation. "That would be nice. Excuse me, ladies." He nodded in Cora and Camilla's direction, the latter looking most disappointed, and allowed Sybil to slip her arm through his and lead him away. He glanced down at her. "You are a lifesaver."

She grinned at him. "I thought you looked like you needed a hand. Papa's handiwork?"

"Of course," he grumbled. "I know he means well but it drives me up the wall."

"He wants what's best for the people he cares about, but he doesn't always go about it in the right way." She chewed her lip, looking pensive.

"Is there something wrong?"

She shook herself. "It's nothing. I don't want you to get involved. Papa would go spare."

"That doesn't sound very reassuring. And never mind your dad. I can handle him."

But she shook her head. "No, it's me who needs to speak with him."

"Speak with him about what?"

Robert's voice behind them made them jump. They swung around guiltily. He looked thunderous.

"I can't believe you blew Camilla off like that," he snapped. "That was very rude, Bates."

"I told you: I'm not interested."

"You're ridiculous! She's perfectly nice! And she was willing to give you a chance!"

"She's not what I'm looking for." He really would rather avoid becoming the star in his very own version of _Fatal Attraction_.

"Then what _are_ you looking for?"

John clamped his jaw. Robert glared. Then, evidently realising that he wasn't going to get any more luck there, he rounded on Sybil. "And what do _you_ want to speak to me about?"

Sybil went bright red, then pointed quickly over his shoulder. "Look, Mary is here!"

Grateful for any temporary relief from this awkward situation, John turned. May was standoffish and cold, but even she was a welcome sight right now. He found her over Robert's shoulder.

And went cold all over, as if he had been dunked in iced water.

No. No, it couldn't be…

But it was.

Anna Smith was standing with Mary.

"Mary!" Sybil yelled. The words registered with John sluggishly; he could only stare, his head buzzing. This made no sense. She couldn't be here, not really. It was a dream that he would wake up from at any moment. Under any circumstances this did not make sense. And if she saw him, standing right there…The thought made him sick with fear. He wanted to turn back and run, but that very same fear left him paralysed, and he could not move as his blood turned to ice in his veins, the anxiety overwhelming—

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. At Sybil's shout, Mary turned her head. By her side, Anna glanced over too, her gaze finding his.

Time stopped, and in that endless moment, everything hit him with clarity. The answer was right there, in her hopeful, sheepish, nervous gaze.

She knew the truth, he realised with a sickening jolt. She knew all of his lies. Had lied to him in turn by pretending that their relationship was exactly what he had presented it to be. But why? Why hadn't she confronted him? Did she want to humiliate him?

Mary turned to her and said something. Anna nodded, not taking her gaze from his. It was as if they were the only two people in the world; all he could focus on was her.

They started walking towards them. And he was rooted to the spot. So many questions were on his tongue. His mouth was sour with the bitterness of their lies. Around them, the world carried on as if there hadn't been a seismic shift in the plates below the surface.

"Oh, you've got to meet Anna!" Sybil was saying enthusiastically. "You'll like her! Everyone does! She's not like the others, I promise."

Not like the others. How little Sybil knew. He'd thought he'd known her too. It showed just how little he really did. How, despite the fact that it felt like he'd known her for years, had told her intimate things that he had never breathed to another living soul, he had only known her for a few months after all. He did not really know her at all.

He could barely breathe as the two women reached them. Mary, regal as ever, offered a cool hand to shake.

"John," she said. "It's nice to see you in these parts. We've been ships in the night ever since you moved here."

He tried to make his mouth work. No words would come. He was saved the agony of finding an answer by Sybil, who jumped to his rescue.

"And this is Anna," she said brightly.

John looked down at her. She looked very pretty today, with her blonde hair tumbling down around her shoulders in curls. It looked different today, but a nice different. If he wasn't feeling so sick, so betrayed, so _terrified_ , he might have been able to appreciate it more.

"Hello, Anna," he said stiffly.

She continued to surprise him in every way. Instead of calling him out in front of everyone, as he'd been dreading, she stuck a hand out towards him. "Pleased to meet you, John."

He eyed it as if it was a viper, but there was no conceivable way that he could get away with not taking it. He reached out and grasped it, fighting the urge to let his eyes slip closed. He had felt that hand beneath his own once before, the daintiness belying the strength she possessed.

"Likewise," he managed, his head spinning. He did not look up, sure the sword of Damocles would drop at any second, ending him then and there.

Mary drawled, "So I should hope. She's been dying to meet you, you know. Asked me all sorts of questions."

"Mary!" Anna hissed; she'd gone a tell-tale pink.

Mary seemed unconcerned with her impertinence. Flicking imaginary lint from her shoulders, she said, "Well, we must dash. I'm dying for a drink and I've got people to see. Come on, Anna, darling."

Anna glanced at him meekly. "All right. It was nice to meet you, John."

Mary rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the elbow. "Come on. I'm not going to get through this without a few proseccos inside me." With that, she practically frogmarched Anna away. John could only stare after her, speechless, unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

Anna knew. _Anna knew_. And she had lied to him in turn.

"Bates, are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Robert's voice, right in his ear, made him jump. "What?"

His best friend frowned at him. "You've gone white as a sheet. Are you okay?"

Christ, no. He wasn't okay. Doubted he would for some time. But he couldn't explain, not now.

"I don't feel well," he croaked.

"It's this blasted heat. Here, let me help you get some shade. Sybil, you'll organise getting him some water, won't you?"

"Of course," said Sybil swiftly. "I won't be long."

With that, she hurried away, leaving John unable to do anything but accept Robert slinging his arm over his shoulder and taking his weight, as if he was some kind of invalid. Words would not form. He could not force himself past the fact that Anna had known this whole time.

"Here you go," huffed Robert, dispensing him unceremoniously into a plastic chair beneath an awning. "Rest here a moment. That's it."

John dropped his cane and passed a shaking hand over his face. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to get rid of. Cold sweat had broken out at his temples, and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. God, if that actually happened…

"I've got to go," said Robert somewhere above him. "Cora's waving for me. Will you be all right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Go." It was best if he went; at least that way he might not have too many uncomfortable questions to answer.

"Don't worry, Sybil won't be long. She's training as a nurse. She'll look after you." Robert patted him on the shoulders and reluctantly disappeared. John kept his head bent, trying to regulate his breathing. He had to get out of here. He had to get home and reassess. This was too much to deal with right now. He couldn't do it.

"Hey."

The voice shook with nerves, small and tentative, but it was a voice he would know anywhere. It was a voice he loved listening to. A voice he sometimes dreamed about. It was the stuff of nightmares now.

Anna took the empty seat beside him. "Here."

She was holding a cold glass of water in her hands. He eyed it.

"It's not poisoned, I promise."

"How did you get here without anyone noticing?"

She gave him a wan smile. "Mary was distracted by her merry men. I caught Sybil at the drinks table and asked her what was wrong. I managed to convince her that I ought to come and see you because I'm a nurse. She agreed."

He eyed it for a second more, then capitulated. The cold water cleared his head slightly, but it did not shift the nausea. He drained the glass in several mouthfuls, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. She was staring at him, hands twisted together in her lap. There was no way round this now.

"What the hell is going on?" he blurted.

A tentative smile broke out over her face. Christ, how could she be _smiling?_ "We need to talk."

That was the understatement of the century. He jerked his head. "Where?"

Relief flooded her expression. "The courtyard. Robert and Cora stack all their empty crates there during the party. We won't be disturbed."

"Talking from experience?" he said, perhaps a touch unfairly.

She ignored him, clambering to her feet. "We should go now, before anyone notices."

"Fine." John heaved himself to his feet too, swaying just slightly as his head span. Gritting his teeth, he snatched up his cane and followed Anna's lead. As she had predicted, they were able to move through the party with ease, the music and conversation distracting everyone. On the journey, Anna did not speak once, nor did she check to see if he was following her. She seemed to know that he had no other choice in the matter, regardless of how much he might want to avoid it.

At last, they reached their destination. Anna pushed the gate open and poked her head inside.

"Clear," she announced, and went in. John trudged after her. She closed the gate behind them and gestured to the stacks of crates. She was right, no one would see them back here. It did not make him feel any better. Nevertheless, he followed.

Anna had already hitched herself up on to one stack, her feet swinging several inches from the floor. "Come and sit with me, John."

He did not want to, but he was powerless to resist. Gingerly, he hoisted himself up too—he could still reach the floor—and stared ahead, not daring to look at her. He couldn't make sense of any of the emotions that warred inside him. They shifted and morphed, impossible to catch. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. At last, Anna heaved a sigh, her mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. "Well, here goes."

John found words with great difficulty. "I should go first."

But Anna shook her head. "No, I think I should. I think it's important."

"I lied to you."

"And I lied to you. Perhaps more so. I knew the truth all along. You didn't. Let me explain."

John shrugged. What difference did it really make in the end? She was right; they had lied to each other. At this point they were arguing semantics.

Anna's hands twisted together in her lap. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "I've known the Crawleys for years, since I was a teen. Mary is my best friend and roommate. We met when I babysat for her one time. I'm a bit older than she is, but we just hit it off straight away. I suppose you could say I'm almost a proper Crawley. I've been on holidays with them. I get invited to everything they host. They've stood by me through everything. They were the support network I alluded to when I told you about my stepfather's trial. I think…I think Isis knocked me over that day in the park because she recognised me."

John had drawn that conclusion for himself. It did not make him feel any better.

Anna continued, "I didn't understand it myself at first, but then you mentioned her name…"

He felt like such an idiot now that everything was so blindingly clear to him. How many Labradors out there were named after Egyptian lore? What were the chances of two dogs in the same small town having such an exotic name? None. He'd been doomed from the start.

She still wasn't looking at him. "I admit, it caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say, because I knew that Isis could only really be Robert's. I didn't know why you'd told me such a lie. But I went home and asked Mary and she put my mind at ease."

So that was where Mary fit in. John shook his head, a touch bitterly. "Why didn't you confront me?"

Anna shifted beside him. "Maybe I should have done, I see that now."

John caught himself. "No, No, this isn't your fault. I shouldn't have lied to you in the first place."

"It's a real comedy of errors on both parts, huh?" She snorted. "I didn't quite know how to broach the subject, I suppose. I didn't want to embarrass you. And I knew that even though you'd lied, you couldn't be a bad person because Mary spoke so highly of you. And you intrigued me."

"Don't tease."

"You think I would have carried on the charade if you didn't? I wanted to know more about you. The same must be true for you as well, otherwise you wouldn't have carried on either."

For a moment, they were silent. John sighed, finally gathering the courage to look at her. She really did look beautiful today. Sunny. Blue was really her colour; it was a pale pastel hue that matched her eyes. The sight of her hair down enamoured him. It was such a rare sight; he had had many a guilty daydream about running his fingers through it, testing the weight and texture between his fingers. Her pale shoulders, slender muscles, sloping neck…all of her was so entirely kissable. Hastily, he averted his eyes, going back to staring at a fixed point in front of him. She had spoken. Now it was his turn to speak too. Whatever happened, he owed her that. His gut reaction had been anger. Flight in a fight or flight situation. But now that his terror was subsiding, he could see more clearly. Anna did not deserve his anger. None of this was her fault. She had kept up the charade, true, but he had started it all by lying. If he had been transparent from the beginning, they would never have found themselves in this situation.

Or perhaps in any kind of situation. Which was not something that he wanted.

Wrong. He had to stop thinking like that. He needed to stop fooling himself, needed to stop tugging his heart along as if it was a faithful dog. Anna could not be his. There was someone else in her life, for one thing. And he could not lead her into something that she had no knowledge of. Vera was still out there, lurking like a dormant disease, he knew that. One whiff of good fortune and she would be right there, ready to ravage the meagre remains of his soul again. Anna could not be collateral damage in her vendetta. He would not allow that to happen to her. They needed to part here, now, when the air was clear between them.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," he acknowledged at last. "I really, really am. I never wanted to do that to you, and I regretted it the moment I did. I panicked at the time, and blurted the words out. And then, well…" Total honesty before they parted. "Yes, you intrigued me too. I wanted to see you again, speak to you again. I did consider just turning up without Isis and spilling the beans to you, but I just…I couldn't. I was terrified of what you'd say. I kept telling myself that I would tell you soon but my courage failed me like the coward I am. It became so easy to pull on those lies and wear them in front of you."

"I don't believe that," said Anna.

"What?"

"I don't believe you were wearing lies in front of me."

"But I was untruthful. There's no denying that."

"And I'm not. But you act as if the whole thing was a façade. I know it wasn't. You told me things that you've never told anyone else, and I know you were being the real you in those moments. And I told _you_ things that I've never told anyone else too. None of those things were lies. That makes me as real as I will ever be, John, and I know that the same goes for you."

"There's so much that you still don't know."

"Is there?" Her eyes were guilty, but her tone was insolent. His heart plummeted like a stone into a bottomless well.

"You know," he said. How _much_ did she know? It was a strange sensation. He didn't know whether to feel violated, relieved, hurt…

Anna hesitated for a moment. "I know you were married. I know your ex-wife was a nasty piece of work."

He made a sound in the back of his throat. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. But I was no saint either. I suppose the Crawleys led you to believe that."

Her silence spoke volumes.

He gave a bitter snort, fishing out a cigarette and flaring it up. He needed to do _something_. Something ordinary in all of this pandemonium. "You shouldn't believe everything that you get told, Anna."

"Why not?"

"Because it's naïve."

She scowled at him. "I'm not naïve. It's cynical and iniquitous not to believe in the people you love. The Crawleys would never lie to hurt me."

It was a mystery to him how a woman could have suffered like Anna had and yet still maintained her positivity and her belief in the human race. He had lost his a long time ago, when his leg had almost been blown off. Humanity lost its sympathy when they just became weapons in a war.

"Fine," he said. "I acknowledge that the Crawleys would never lie to hurt you. But it doesn't mean that they can't be misguided by their own loyalties."

"Loyalties to you."

"Loyalties that I don't deserve."

"That's your opinion. Personally, I think you're wrong. You saved Robert's life, John. If that doesn't deserve loyalty, I don't know what does. You could have left a family of three young girls to grow up without their father. You could have left a young woman alone to raise those three girls."

"Anyone would have done the same."

"And that's where you're wrong. Sometimes the instinct of self-preservation kicks in, no matter how spineless it is. You could have saved yourself."

"There was nothing to save. There hasn't been for a long time."

"There aren't many people who are past redemption. You are not one of those people, John."

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke burn inside his lungs for a moment. "I was an alcoholic, did Mary tell you that?"

Silence. His lips twisted. "Of course she did."

"Only once," she hurried to explain. "It was just a passing remark."

"It's not just a passing remark to me. It's a part of my life that I will never be over."

"But the fact that you've stayed on the straight and narrow ought to be commended. Not everyone manages it."

"For all the good it's done me."

"You don't mean that. I know you don't. You're not the kind of man who hides away from the world and its injustices."

"Of course I'm that man. Why do you think I turned to drink in the first place? I couldn't cope with what had happened to me. To what my marriage had become. Drowning in a bottle of alcohol is the ultimate hiding place. Half of the time it's difficult to remember your own name. You're not going to remember the hell that brought you there." It had been that way for him, at least. Some days, the relief of the bottle had been all he'd been living for.

"You overcame it," Anna said simply. "That does not strike me as the mark of a defeatist. If you'd truly been that man, you would have drunk yourself to death. You haven't. You're still here."

Yes, he was still there. Existing for the sake of his mother. Not truly living. How could he ever again after everything he'd gone through? The stinging reality made his tongue sharp. "You've done a fine job of investigating me, I must say. My time in the army, Vera, my alcoholism...I wonder if there's anything you don't know."

"You're not going to put me off," said Anna, jutting her chin. "I don't find you intimidating. I know that's not who you are. You've not got a nasty bone in your body."

"You're wrong. It's exactly who I was when I was with Vera. I've told you before that I struggle with my temper."

"I know the way your father treated you manifested itself in your behaviour. And you've never lost your temper with _me_."

John took another drag on his cigarette before flinging it away. "So you're a shrink now?"

"No. I'm speaking as a fellow survivor. I know how this works, remember? You're not the only one who has suffered. Remember that."

He did. Shame flooded him at once. She was right. She had suffered so much worse than he had, and she had not turned out virulent and twisted like he had. She ought to be a role model to all, someone to be held up and celebrated for the way she had conducted her life. Still, he felt like a caged, cornered animal, and they were wont to lash out under threat. His next words were vituperative. "You've learned your lines well."

"They're not lines, and I resent you for saying that. I'm entitled to my opinions."

"Misguided as they are."

"What about them is misguided?" He could hear the frustration in her tone now, and he took it as a vicious victory that she was losing some of her composure. "You were married once. You had a messy divorce. Big deal. So does half the population. You were injured fighting a war, injured _saving_ someone. You made mistakes where drink was concerned, but you turned your back on it and built yourself a better life. All of that is _commendable_. Go on, tell me where I'm wrong."

She glared at him, and he knew that it was time to go all in. He'd been telling himself for weeks that she deserved the whole truth. She might as well get it now. He would not relish seeing her faith in him crumble, but a part of him _would_ feel a self-destructive vindication at knowing that he had always been right, that she could not make excuses for everything he'd done.

"Do you know about prison, then?"

His blunt words made her flinch; her eyes widened imperceptibly. His lips twisted in a sardonic smile.

"Ah, so you _don't_ know everything," he said. "Yes, that's right, I have a prison record too."

If he hoped to taunt her into mortification, he was disappointed. Anna folded her arms in defiance. "Can't've been that terrible if Mary didn't mention it. She hates anything that would impeach on her image."

"Or the Crawleys are so ashamed that they try to pretend it doesn't exist."

"No, I believe I'm right. You're only saying those things to scare me away. Well, it won't work. You should know that I don't scare easy, not these days. I won't let you do that to me. To us."

"There is no 'us', don't you see?" he growled. "There can never be an 'us'."

"Why? Because some foolish guilt is telling you so?"

"It's not foolish. Your family wouldn't like it."

"My family has nothing to do with this. I make my own decisions. I live my own life. Besides, Mum has made some pretty horrendous errors all on her own. She has no right to judge what makes me happy."

His heart leapt at her bold words. It had been so very long since someone had last associated him with happiness. With Vera, it had been darkness and misery. He had been a constant source of disappointment to his mother over the past few years. The thought that he could make someone _happy_ …

But no. It wouldn't last. It would only disintegrate, leaving him more bereft than ever.

"You don't even know what I did," he said.

"Only because you haven't told me. So tell me now."

"And if I refuse?"

She shrugged. "I can't make you tell me. But it won't stop me wanting the truth."

He had visions of her going down to London, finding his mother, and getting the truth out of her. The old girl would be more than happy to talk. He gritted his teeth. It was better that she heard _his_ truth, not his mother's. "Fine, have it your way."

"Good. I'm listening."

For a moment he said nothing, trying to find the words that would express one of his deepest shames. He had never talked about this, not even with Robert. His friend had always respected his wish. But there was no way around this.

"It was a two year suspended sentence for stealing," he said.

"Only suspended?"

"Don't try to make it less than it is. That's bad enough. I brought shame on my mother."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"What else is there to say? I stole."

"There must have been some mitigating factor for a suspended sentence. Judges don't hand those out for nothing."

"You clearly have a rosier outlook on the justice system than most people. I've seen suspended sentences handed out for far worse than what I did."

"So you're admitting that what you did wasn't that bad."

He scowled at her. "Don't put words into my mouth. I deserved to be punished."

"All right, then. Tell me what happened."

He remained tight-lipped, but it did not deter her. Her tenacity rivalled the dog's that had brought them together, and it was bloody infuriating.

"Go on. You want me to be your jury? Fine, I'm ready. But I won't make any decision without knowing the full story. So you might as well tell it me. And then you'll know, one way or the other."

They were at another impasse. John could feel his frustrations rising further, like the high tide. Why did she have to pursue this? Why couldn't she accept what he'd said and duck out gracefully to allow him to nurse his wounds in peace?

"It was a jewellery store," he ground out. "The things were in my pocket."

"'The things were in my pocket'," Anna mimicked. "They happened to fall in there, did they? Stop trying to twist things to your liking, John. I've told you what I want. It's the least I deserve."

How they could quibble over who deserved what when they had both lied to each other was stupid, but John ignored the irritable stab he felt and capitulated. Fine, she could have the bloody truth. It did not change anything.

"Vera and I were window shopping. She wanted something nice for Christmas. I said we couldn't afford it. Hell, I don't even remember much of that day. I was drunk, as usual. We argued, she pulled me out, and when the police arrived at our door an hour later the jewels were in my pocket. I confessed and was arrested."

"So you were protecting Vera."

"No," he said. "It was my fault too, that it had come to that. Our whole marriage was a train crash. I should have put the brakes on a long time ago."

"Vera took them, didn't she?"

He hated how certain she was.

"I don't know," he said staunchly. "I was drunk."

"Come off it. Shops have CCTV everywhere these days. Is that what cast enough reasonable doubt for the suspended sentence? Did they have evidence of Vera lifting the stuff?"

"I could have told her to."

Anna snorted. "That was her defence, was it?"

"She never turned up at court. She disappeared for a long time afterwards."

"I'm not bloody surprised," Anna said fiercely. "What a _bitch_."

The word was hissed with such vehemence that it took John by surprise. He had never heard that tone before, ever. Anna was so rarely less than sunny.

"You took the blame for her," she said. "You spared her prison."

"I didn't know—"

"Stop that now. You _do_ know. In your heart of hearts you know the truth. You're not a thief. Even if you were drunk, you'd never do anything like that. From what everyone has told me about Vera—from what _you've_ told me about her—it's exactly the kind of thing that she would do."

"You're biased because you…you want to justify what we've shared." Just saying those words felt arrogant, a disservice to her.

"No, I'm not. I'm seeing through all of your bullshit to what lies underneath. A forlorn man scared to live his life because he's endured so much pain through the rest of it. But I'm not Vera, John. I would never hurt you that way."

"Vera is dangerous."

"I'm not scared of her."

"You should be. She's unpredictable. You never know where she's going to strike next."

"Just let her dare come near me. I'm not about to back down. If she doesn't want you to be happy then that's her problem. I'd fight every step of the way for your happiness, you know."

He did know. Christ, it was terrifying, but he knew it was the truth. Anna was the kind of person who loved wholeheartedly. Unconditionally.

"Here's the way I see it," said Anna, breaking him from his thoughts. "Call me whatever you like. Naïve. Stupid. I don't care. I believe in being true to myself, and that's what I'm being now." She took a deep breath.

Her next words made his whole world shake to its very foundations.

"I fancy you, John. I have done for a while now, and I think you know that too, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. I don't even know how it crept up on me. All I know is that it did. You can't wish it to be different just because you want to. That's the truth. It's not going anywhere. And what's more, I think if you were truly honest with yourself, you'd say that you felt the same way too."

He floundered in the aftermath, trying to put fragments of sentences together.

"You can't," he croaked at last. It sounded feeble even to his own ears.

"I can," she said without hesitation. "I do. My feelings don't work like taps, John. I can't turn them on and off at will. I've kept quiet about it for quite some time now, but I know that now is the right time to get it all out in the open. Whether you want to acknowledge what I've said is up to you. I can't make you. But don't you dare stand there and tell me that you don't feel anything for me. You'd just be lying to yourself. And I don't think you really want there to be any more lies between us. We've had our fill of those for a lifetime."

"And so what if I did feel something for you?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he had nothing else to lose now. "It makes absolutely no difference."

"I disagree. It makes all the difference in the world. It gives me something to fight for."

"I am not the kind of person you ought to be fighting for. There are a thousand more people more worthy."

"Like the doctor you assumed I must be falling for?" She shook her head. "That person I described to you in Whitby…it was you, John. It was always you. I don't want anyone else."

"It's folly."

"It's not. I wish you'd stop fighting it and accept that we're good together."

"You deserve something so much more than me. What can I offer you? I don't even have a proper job."

"You do something that you love. Something that you're good at. That goes a long way."

"It's not going to pay the bills."

"It will. I don't need to read what you're writing to know that it will do well. And don't tell me that it's because I'm naïve or being blind because I fancy you. It's not. You'll succeed. There's no doubt in my mind.

"Then what about the rest of it? Prison? The alcoholism? Vera?"

"I've told you that I don't care about any of that. You atoned for your mistakes. You don't drink now. And we're going around in circles where Vera is concerned. I'm not just saying that I'm not frightened of her to make myself sound brave. She's truly no concern of mine. Just let her dare come here and make trouble. I'll show her the true meaning of Yorkshire pride."

"It's wise to be afraid of Vera. She's a viper." She had pumped him with poison too many ties, struck again and again until she'd drained him of life. "She will gather whatever she can on you to destroy you."

"I'm not afraid of my past, not anymore. She can't use it against me."

He wished he had her courage. "She will find a weak spot. She always does." He feared that she would find his weak spot straight away: Anna herself. He would crumble the moment that she was threatened. He could not allow anything bad to befall her. She meant too much to me, whether she should or not.

"I tell you what," said Anna. "How about we strike a deal?"

"A deal?" he echoed suspiciously.

"That's right. No ulterior motives, just a simple bargain."

"What does that entail?" He could not bring himself to trust her. She was as wily as a cat, a wood nymph. But he had to know.

"You tell me that you don't want me, and I'll leave you right now," she said simply. "No questions asked. I will never bother you again. I will leave you to live your life and I promise that I won't make you feel guilty or remorseful about saying it."

"What's the catch?" he asked. There had to be one, some loophole that she would use to run circles around him.

His worst fear was confirmed.

"You tell me you don't want me after I've kissed you," she said. "If you can say it then, then I'll take it to be the truth. If you can't…well, I'd say it was high time you stop stringing us both along and do what'll make us both happy."

Terror rose up inside him. No, this was a very bad idea. If she kissed him, it would all be over. He would not be able to resist her. She would leave him defeated. He could not allow his selfish desires to govern him—

It was too late.

Because before he could even fight it, the gap was shrinking between them. John barely had time to register just how pretty Anna's eyes were this close before his senses was obscured entirely by her. His vision. His sinuses.

His taste buds.

She tasted of prosecco and chocolate, of the warm summer's day. Her mouth was _perfect_ , so soft and light over his, as if she was just measuring him out before she went any further. Involuntarily, his hand moved to the side of her face, cradling her cheek in his palm, pulling her even closer. She sighed into his mouth, something that made him tingle all over, before she pushed even closer, until she was almost in his lap. The sensible thing to do would be to push her away, but he found that he simply did not have the willpower to do it. He was helpless to resist her. His mouth moved under hers, seeking her guidance, lost to her. She wanted him. _She wanted him_. The knowledge was heady, powerful, like the alcohol he had craved in his past life. He had tried to tell her that this could never be, but she hadn't listened to him. And he had run out of fight. Did not want to fight. Not anymore. There was only one thing he wanted. Her.

They kissed each other softly. Tenderly. Anna rested one of her hands on his knee while her other hand moved up to cup his face in turn. Her tongue touched his bottom lip, sending an electric jolt through his entire system. Oh, God. His mouth opening was an automatic response, and he fell deeper into her as her tongue met his for the very first time. It was magical. Overpowering.

They did not part for a very long time. Anna seemed intent on mapping out every single inch of him, parting from him only to murmur nonsensical words for a few seconds before she was back on him again. He kept his eyes closed, determined to experience this to the fullest. Its glorious fullest. He had never been kissed like this before, not even by Vera at the beginning. Those kisses had always been fuelled by lust, by a desire to dominate. These kisses…these kisses were about so much more. Forgiveness. Reassurance.

Love.

They were salves on his wounded heart. He had fought so hard for so long. He had not been whole for over a decade now. Today, it felt like he could finally be on that path once again. Anna was a true nurse in every sense.

At long last, Anna pulled away from him, just enough that her lips were still brushing his as she spoke, her fingers, scratching through the hairs at the back of his neck.

"Tell me that you don't want this," she said.

The words withered in his throat like the leaves in winter, waiting for their rebirth. Waiting for the chance they needed to grow.

This very chance that was before him.

He should lie through his teeth to keep her safe, but he could not make those words form.

The words that formed instead were his downfall. Sealed his fate.

Made him the happiest man in the whole world.

"I can't," he said. "I can't tell you that."

"You want me." It was a command.

"I want you," he said helplessly. "I want this." This, the two of them together. One unit. One person.

"I want this, John," she echoed, branding those words against his mouth. "There's nothing else I want. You can't deny me. _Us_. I know you feel the same, no matter what you might say. And I'm not going to let go of this. I'm not going to give you up without a fight. You deserve to be happy, and so do I. I know we can give that to each other. Pease stop fighting it. Please."

The sensible thing to do would be to tell her that he couldn't. That they had to stop this. That there could be no happy end.

But he didn't want to. And he wasn't sure that he believed that, not anymore. Anna had shown him over and over that she was strong, sharp, single-minded. She had borne so much in her life that she never should have had to. It had made her into the pillar of power that she was today. He knew that no matter what was thrown her way, she would be able to overcome it. Would it not be an insult to her to tell her no, to walk away without giving her a say in what she did with her life? In trying to protect her, he would only end up hurting them both. He knew that. Was that a price that he was willing to pay?

He thought about his life now, of what it would cost him to walk away. His days would be mired in misery. He could not see himself ever getting over losing her. She meant so much to him after such a short space of time. He would be lost without her. She'd told him that she did not want anyone else. As much as he believed that with time she could find someone else who would treasure her the way that she deserved to be treasured, the thought made him stick to the stomach. And what was the point in them both pining after each other when he had the power to make them both happy? There were a thousand things that could go wrong, but Anna was right: life was short. And it deserved to be lived. He owed it to the people who loved him the most. He could see that now. And if Vera came, determined to cause hell for him…well, he'd have to deal with that when it came. Vera was the past, thank God. Anna wanted to be his present. He would be a fool to deny them.

Unable to find the words that he needed to express everything he was feeling—gratefulness, adoration, too many nerves—he pressed his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes closed, nodding. Her smile was pressed to his mouth as she kissed him once, sweetly, in acknowledgement of his answer.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He chuckled, dazed. "I think I should be the one thanking you, Anna."

"You've made me very, very happy."

He tightened his hold on her. "Not as happy as you've made me, I promise you."

"Which is why we could be so good together," she said. "That's what these feelings are supposed to be about. Happiness, not desolation."

Of course that was how it was supposed to be. But he had been so damaged by his relationship with Vera, with the calamitous mistakes he had made, that it felt impossible that he should be deserving of someone like Anna, who had endured so much despair of her own. It would be almost cruel to make her bear the burden of things that had nothing to do with her.

And yet she'd told him that he made her happy. That she wanted him. That she knew every dark secret that he had been so desperate to keep hidden and none of it had bothered her. All she wanted was him, the good man that she knew he could be.

He could deny himself no longer. Squeezing her tighter, he moved his head to the crook of her neck, breathing in the alluring smell of her perfume, taking comfort from the way that she immediately tightened her hold on him, one hand moving so that she could run her fingers through his hair in a soothing, repetitive gesture, dropping a kiss there. Time ceased to exist as she held him in her arms, giving him all the reassurance he needed. H felt her steady pulse against her cheek and counted it, allowing it to calm him in turn, until he felt able to face the world again.

He would never have to face it alone now. He had Anna by his side.

She smiled at him as he surfaced, reaching out to cup his cheek.

"You okay?" she said softly.

"More than okay," he said. "All thanks to you."

Her face lit up. God, she was so beautiful. "It's what I'm here for, Mr. Bates."

"You're certainly the sunshine in my life."

"I certainly hope so."

"You are," he affirmed, moving in to kiss her again. However, she stopped him with a firm palm against his chest. He pulled up, frowning. She giggled.

"Take me out on another date, and I might let you kiss me again," she said. "Tomorrow, when all of this is over."

Another date. He flushed all over at the thought. "We've not had our first yet."

"Oh, I disagree," she said. "Whitby, remember?"

"That wasn't a date."

"Wasn't it? We strolled along the beach, we had lots of fun, you held my hand. I kissed you on the cheek when it was all over. Sounds like a date to me."

The fact that she considered _Whitby_ to truly be a date made his heart race all over again. Swallowing hard, he nodded. "All right then." If there was any incentive to make sure that their second date happened quickly, it was the thought of her kissing him again.

"I have just one condition."

"What's that?"

"That we have an Isis-free date," she said mischievously. "I've loved having her around, but I think we need to stop letting her third-wheel on us."

"I'm not sure how pleased she'd be to hear that," he grinned. He felt giddy, lighter than he had done in years. All because of Anna. And Isis too, he supposed. None of this would have been possible if she hadn't knocked Anna down in the park that day.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Isis is a dog, John. A lovely dog, but a dog all the same. I very much doubt she's even going to notice that we don't take her for walks anymore. She's got Robert, after all."

It _is_ a nice idea, to spend some time away from the park," he mused. "I feel like I've practically live there over the past few months."

Anna snorted. "I'll say one thing for you, you were certainly dedicated to your cause."

"What can I say?" He could feel himself blushing to the roots of his hair, but the words had to be sed. "I was hoping to impress you."

She gave him a wicked grin. "Oh, you definitely managed that, Mr. Bates."

Before he could conjure up too many racy connotations, she pulled away from him and hopped back to the ground. He mourned the loss of her immediately. She turned towards him and held out her hand.

"Come on," she said softly. "We ought to get back before someone notices we've been gone for a long time. And there's something else we need to do today before we leave here."

"What's that?" said John, picking up his cane and sliding off the crates too. He took the hand that she had offered to him, relaxing instantly when her fingers curled around his.

Anna took a deep breath. "I think we should tell our friends about us."

John felt his stomach somersault. "What?"

"It's time, John. We've not just been lying to ourselves these past months, we've been lying to them as well. I think it's time that we cleared the air completely so that we can embark on something without anything around our necks. I hate lying to Mary, and I'm sure you hate lying to Robert."

"That's true," he conceded. "I don't like lying to Robert." Not when he had done so much for him by getting him where he needed to be, and for always standing by him even through the toughest of times when he wouldn't have blamed him for turning his back. He knew he had repaid him poorly for deceiving him about his true intentions when it came to the walks in the park with Isis. Robert was good enough that he would probably forgive him, especially when he realised that those walks had led his best friend to finding happiness once more, but the fact that he had lied to him would still be there.

"Mary's been my best friend for years, and she's supported me through a lot of bad. I don't want to carry on lying any longer than I have to. She deserves to know the truth."

"I suppose the one thing I was afraid of is the…well, the added pressure of other people knowing," he said.

Anna frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Robert has spent so long trying to push me towards happiness. I don't want to screw any of this up just because of all the expectations that will come with it."

Anna reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Look at me, John." Reluctantly, he gazed down at her, and she offered him a reassuring smile. "There's nothing to worry about, I promise. It doesn't matter about the expectations of the others. The only thing that matters is what we want. We go at our own pace. We do what _we_ want, not what everyone else wants us to do. You have nothing to fear. We know that we've always got to be open and honest with each other, about absolutely everything. From here on in, we communicate openly with each other. All right? So if something's troubling you, or something doesn't feel right, you tell me straight away, and I'll show you the same courtesy. Sound fair?"

"Yes," he agreed. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Anna always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better. He should never have underestimated her.

"So, are you ready?"

"I'm ready," he said, surprised by how determined he sounded. It pleased Anna; beaming, she squeezed him tighter. But it was true. He needed to stop allowing his fears to overcome him. He would tell Robert the truth. He would take Anna out on that date tomorrow evening and he would—hopefully—get that kiss she had promised him.

This was not the end of something great, as he had feared. It was the start of something even better, and he couldn't wait to see where it took them.

No one took the slightest bit of notice of them as they slipped back into the party. No one had noticed that the earth had tremored beneath their feet as they talked and drank, that there had been a seismic shift that meant that nothing would ever be the same again. John marvelled at it all. How could people not hear the birds chirping in the trees, so high and sweet? How were they not relishing the warmth of the sun on their necks, or a loved one's touch on the low of their back?

Always so in tune with him, Anna squeezed his hand. The feel of her fingers sent a jolt through his entire system. She was so close to his side; he could feel the warm weight of her body all along his side. She touched his arm with her other hand, squeezing him.

"Are you all right?" she murmured.

He shook his head. He still felt dazed, as if he'd gone ten rounds in the boxing ring and come out the worst for wear. "Yeah, I'm all right. I just can't believe that this is happening." It was so hard to believe that he'd faced his demons and overcome them. That Anna wanted _him_ , too, as much as he wanted her. He wanted to lean down to kiss her again, to cement that this was all real, but he couldn't. Not here, not now. She'd told him that she'd kiss him again when he took her out on a proper date. He had no doubt that she'd stick to her guns. And they had other matters to attend to now.

Her smile was contagious.

"Believe," she said simply.

"John?"

The simpering voice came out of nowhere, causing John to jump. His first instinct was to drop Anna's hand as if he was guilty of some great crime, but she was far more level-headed than he was; keeping her hand twined firmly through his, she turned towards the newcomer. His heart sank at the sight. Camilla.

"Can we help you?" Anna asked, all sweetness and light.

Camilla narrowed her eyes at them. "I was hoping that I might speak with John alone. We were having _such_ an invigorating conversation earlier."

Anna turned to raise her eyebrows at him. He tried to look surprised.

"Robert introduced us," he said, hoping that she'd pick up on his nonverbal cues. From the way that her mouth twisted in a smirk, he knew that she had.

"Right," she said. "Nice to meet you. I'm Anna."

"Charmed," said Camilla, sounding anything but and not bothering to introduce herself. Which was rather rude, John thought. The sugary-sweet simpering had been replaced by an ugly sneer as she glared down at their entwined hands. "What's going on here?"

"We're getting used to each other," Anna deadpanned.

Camilla's scowled deepened. "Robert gave me the impression that you didn't know anyone here, John."

"I met Anna a few months back," said John. There was no point in lying now; the truth would be coming out very soon anyway, and he did not want Anna to think that he was ashamed when he was anything but. "We hit it off straight away."

"That's right," said Anna, practically glowing. "It was one of the best things to ever happen to me."

"Robert said you were single." There was no mistaking the wounded injustice in Camilla's tone now.

"Robert said I was divorced," John corrected her.

"Well, the implication was there."

"He was single until a few minutes ago," Anna piped up cheerfully, her hand possessive on his arm. "But we decided that we'd had enough of dancing around each other. Looks like I slipped in just in time."

Camilla made a noise in the back of her throat and flounced off without another word. Anna broke into giggles beside him.

"And here was me, thinking that I was the only woman in your life," she said.

"You are," he protested.

"She was coming on to you."

"I can assure you, it was most unpleasant."

"I do hope so, Mr. Bates," she murmured. "And I hope you find that the opposite is true when it's _me_ coming on to you."

His mouth went dry simply remembering what it had been like to kiss her. His lips still tingled; if he closed his eyes, he could feel the warm, soft pressure of her own against him.

"Oh, it was definitely the opposite," he managed.

Anna nodded her approval. "Good answer. Now, come on. We have some work to do."

She was right. They had to find their friends. Confess all. Plead for forgiveness. Hope that they weren't too hurt that they had been left in the dark whilst their relationship had been rumbling in the background. Evidently noticing his apprehension, Anna stroked his arm.

"We'll be okay," she told him. He knew she was right. Squeezing her hand in return, he took a deep breath.

"We should get going," he said. "You'll meet me later?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," she promised him. "Good luck, John."

He'd probably need it. "You too."

Anna nodded, then slipped away from him. He felt the loss of her hand in his keenly, his heart growing emptier by the second as he watched her stride across the sprawling grass away from him. It was ridiculous, really, how much he already missed her. He remained rooted to the spot until she was swallowed up by the crowd.

Something wet touched his hand, and he jumped. Glancing down, he found Isis sitting beside him.

"Bloody hell," he said crossly. "You almost gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that!"

The dog seemed entirely unconcerned with his irritation. She sat herself down on her haunches, panting happily as she gazed up at him. There was a lot of intelligence in those brown eyes; if he didn't know better, he'd say that she knew exactly what had transpired between him and Anna in the courtyard. People always said that animals were cleverer than they were given credit for, and that seemed to ring true here.

Unable to stop his grin, far too happy with the way that this afternoon had gone after all, John patted her absently on the head.

"Well, you heard Anna," he said. "We've got something very important to do. And I think you should come with me and help me explain to your master just how you managed to get me into a situation where I ended up falling for his daughter's best friend."

Isis wagged her tail.

* * *

Predictably, their best friends were filled with indignation, disbelief,, and mirth at the idea that they had been kept in the dark for months about the bond that had slowly been growing between them.

"Golly gumdrops! What a turn up! I bloody knew it!" Robert crowed, slapping him on the back. "I _knew_ there had to be a woman involved with your bull-headed insistence that you walk Isis every day! You sly old dog!" He seemed to find the whole thing to be a great big adventure. John was relieved that he hadn't taken it to heart at all.

Mary was a little bit harder to win around, Anna told him later. She hadn't known whether to feel affronted that she hadn't been told, angry at herself for not taking more note of Anna's questions regarding him, pleased for her friend _finally_ finding happiness, or scarred for life that she found her papa's best friend attractive.

John knew that they were both going to be in for a lot of stick for a long time coming—possibly for the rest of their lives, knowing the kinds of personalities that father and daughter had—but for once he couldn't bring himself to care. As sheepish as he felt about the whole debacle, nothing could dampen his spirits now. Anna had weathered every single reason he had believed them to be unsuitable, and had given as good as she got in return. It was a quality to be admired, and he found himself falling for her even further.

And now he had the chance to impress her. A second date. Because she considered their first date to be that day in Whitby. He glowed with pride.

"You need to do something that will really knock her socks off," Robert advised him.

"Mate, I really don't need dating advice from you," he responded grumpily. "You've not had to date anyone in over a quarter of a century. Your methods are probably Victorian now."

Robert wagged his finger at him. "True wooing never goes out of fashion, Bates. Treat her like a lady and she'll be putty in your hands. And try to do something fun. You don't want the weight of expectation to get too much and ruin everything. After that you can show her the kind of good time that will make her wonder why she waited this long."

Typical Robert. John rolled his eyes, but he did take him up on the one piece of advice: to do something fun. Bowling, he decided. That seemed like a safe option. It was the kind of activity that would help them to forget about the significance of what they were doing, and would ease them into their new roles.

He counted it as a success. Anna laughed at how ridiculous she looked as she swapped her strappy heels for a pair of unflattering bowling shoes, horribly mismatched with her dress. She had a terrible aim; the ball rolled down the side of the lane far more times than it stayed on. She called him a cheater as he placed his own perfectly every time. He ought to have been a gentleman and lost to her, really, but she was so poor that it was simply an impossible task. The highlight was standing behind her, his breath rippling her hair and hearing her breath quicken in turn as he guided her hand over the ball and perfected her throw. It was one of the few times she managed to knock some pins down.

Afterwards, he took her to dinner, and they enjoyed themselves over the low lighting until the staff had banged around one too many times to be ignored. On cloud nine, he walked her home and, as promised for an Isis-free evening, she kissed him so sweetly on her doorstep that he was sure he'd melt through the cracks in the pavement. He cradled her face in his hands and poured every ounce of passion he had back into the kiss. The soft sounds she made set him on fire, and he ran his fingers through her hair in the way that he had been fantasising about since the last time he'd kissed her.

Movement over her shoulder caught his attention in the very corner of his eye, and he pulled away to peer over it. Anna, whose eyes had drifted closed, opened them again, peering up at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Ah, bugger," he said. "Mary's watching us."

Anna whipped around at once, scowling. Mary offered them a cheery wave from the window, utterly unconcerned. Anna flashed her a rude hand gesture.

"Typical," she muttered. "She's so interfering."

"I imagine Robert would be exactly the same. Like father like daughter, I suppose."

"Talk about cooling the passion, though."

He risked reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't mind. I wasn't planning on taking you to bed tonight, Anna. We don't need to rush things."

"No," she agreed, though he detected a tinge of disappointment in his tone and it thrilled him. "You're right, of course."

He bent in to her ear and whispered, "One day."

She shivered, reaching out to run her hand down his chest. "Yes. I just have one request."

He went hot all over at the thought.

"What's that?" he croaked, hoping that he didn't sound as disorientated as he felt.

"When that day comes…we spend the night at yours," she murmured.

Christ, just the mere thought of her lying mussed in his bedsheets made him feel quite insensible. "Sounds…sounds like an acceptable plan. So not here, then?" A part of him was rather relieved at the thought. It would feel strange, the first time, entering a space she shared so closely with Mary.

Anna shook her head. "No, definitely not. Mary would _say_ that she'd keep out of our hair, but I guarantee you that she'd come back to spy on us on the pretence that she'd forgotten something important…"

"Speaking from experience, are you?" said John, and her cheeks pinked.

"That's irrelevant," she said, as good as any admission. No doubt it was that ex of hers. If she didn't want to talk about it it was fine with him. He'd rather not think about her draped around some fit Adonis when she was settling for him. And he was having a hard enough time trying to convince himself that Anna would actually want to sleep with him one day. If he had to contend with the possibility that _Mary_ might see more of him than he'd ever bargained for, he didn't think he'd ever be interested in sex again.

"All right," he agreed.

"Don't think it's because I'm ashamed of you," she implored. "I'd just rather keep you private. I don't want to share you."

"I wasn't about to suggest a polyamorous relationship," he joked. "Really, Anna, I know what you mean. It's fine. And I agree with you." He could definitely do without those sorts of pressures on him. "Now, I've deposited you home safely. Go and get some rest. You've got to get enough sleep to get you through the day tomorrow."

"Believe me, the memory of tonight will get me through tomorrow," she said, rising up to kiss him one more time. He loved that even in heels she was still a fair bit shorter than him. He kept the kiss chaste, mindful of Mary's hawk-eyed gaze burning into him, then used every ounce of strength he had to pull away, whisper _goodnight_ against her ear, and step back before he embarrassed himself. She gave him a beatific smile and turned on her heel. He remained where he was until the door had closed behind her then, staunchly ignoring the way that Mary was flashing him the thumbs-up, turned to make his own way home.

Things only got better from there. More dates, more kisses, more fun, more laughter, more exhilarating rushes as he realised that he was falling in love…

Never in his whole life had John known such happiness. It was ridiculous, really. He was a fully grown man, in his forties at that, and yet he felt like a giddy teenager in the first flushes of love. Perhaps that was what it was. Perhaps he'd never truly been in love before. Oh, he'd thought he'd loved Vera, but that had been driven more by lust than anything else. Now, he knew the real difference.

In a few weeks' time, he would be waking up beside her for the very first time, the pale morning light dappling her skin as she slumbered with the covers thrown clean from her body and he'd found the greatest peace he'd ever known.

Things would progress from there. Daily calls and texts. Spontaneous flowers, romantic evenings together. Their six month anniversary came and went; for their first, John was celebrating the publication of his first book. He spent some of the funds that came to him on the holiday that Anna had mentioned on their very first date at the beach—a two week vacation to the Bahamas. It was not usually his kind of thing, but seeing the disbelieving delight on Anna's face as he showed her the tickets made everything more than worth it. They enjoyed all four 'S's—and plenty of them all.

Eighteen months into their relationship, they made the decision to move in together. It made sense, really. They were not young teens who were running before they could walk. There was nothing to think through. They wanted to be together. They had no doubt that this was forever. It was time for some new adventures. Mary was devastated to lose her flatmate, but she was going steady with Matthew, and they were in no doubt that they were also heading for something similar very soon indeed.

And what new adventures they were. It was enjoyable having to navigate all of the pitfalls of cohabitation. Sometimes, John would grow tetchy with the way that Anna seemed incapable of silence when he was trying to work, and Anna grow tired of the constant clacking of the keys. Besides, it was all relative. There were a thousand things that they _loved_ about living together, and nothing would ever overcome that.

John was never going to be the next J.K. Rowling, but he did much more generously than he'd ever hoped he could. It afforded them the luxury, along with the wages that Anna brought in from her hard work as a nurse, to do what they wanted with the house. Renovating was high on the list, and they spent a lot of happy, exhausting hours setting it up just how they wanted it. By the time they were finished, it looked like a picture from a story book, complete with the flower boxes out on the windowsills and the cat lazing in the sun. It was something that they had discussed and agreed together readily; a pet made a home, and a cat was perfect for their current needs. Bandit came from the local animal shelter, and John found that he loved the little fella more than he cared to admit. Anna doted on him. One day, hopefully, he would see her cradling a child of their own in the same way.

Life was good. Looking at her framed in the morning sun, hair a bright gold, he couldn't help but sidle up to her. She glanced up from her cup of tea, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"What's got into you?" she murmured.

"Nothing," he said. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck.

"Oh, there's definitely something," she said. "What have you broken this time?"

"Nothing!" he chuckled. "Can't a man show affection to the woman he loves if the urge overtakes him?"

"There'll be none of that this morning. You'll make me late for work."

He huffed against her. "There you go, spoiling the romantic moment."

She giggled, turning to sneak a kiss from his mouth. "How about I promise to make it up to you later?"

"No need to do that. You make me happy whenever I even look at you."

"Charmer."

"Not this time. Just speaking the truth, my darling. I am very, very lucky to have you."

That comment was rewarded with another kiss, slower and more lingering this time. He relished the silk of her mouth against his before she pulled away, tucking herself tight to his chest, and he squeezed her, enjoying the golden moment while he still could.

There, in the warm morning sunshine, John was glad that he had taken her words to heart. The only words that had ever really mattered.

 _Believe_.

* * *

Weekends off were a thing to treasure. It wasn't very often that she got one, what with the demands at the hospital and so, when they came along, Anna was determined to enjoy every single moment.

Which meant, at this early hour of seven thirty, she was going to enjoy keeping John in bed with her. It was something that she had never been able to fathom, but her boyfriend was an early riser. He'd told her that he'd spent years having to get up before dawn when he'd been in the military, and that it was now so far engrained within him that he found it difficult to sleep past seven. Since they had moved in together, he seemed much more amenable to changing his ways, but there were still mornings when she woke to the pitch black to already find him at work in his study.

This morning, she'd been quite successful, even if she did say so herself. Whilst this early hour was hardly one she wanted to see, she had already done the calculations in her head. She and John could do their strenuous exercises, and there would be plenty of time for a lovely nap in its aftermath. And John was usually so sleepy afterwards, with the rush of endorphins, that it would be no problem at all to get him to curl back around her and doze with her. At the current moment she was distracting him with a series of long kisses, her hands massaging his scalp and running through his hair. The actions were making him whimper, and his fingers were clumsy as he tried to pry open the buttons on her pyjama top. His inability to properly coordinate made her smile against his mouth, and she pulled back just slightly.

"Don't do that," he groaned.

"Just helping you out," she murmured, shrugging out of her pyjama top before tackling him again, rolling him onto his back so that she could straddle his lap. He grunted his appreciation, his hands immediately moving up to touch and tease her newly exposed flesh. She let him have his way for a few minutes, enjoying his ministrations far too much, before her own strayed to his t-shirt. That was one thing she missed about the summer months; he always slept half-naked. The year's early months did not yet lend to such practices. Still, it was not all bad: at least this way she could enjoy undressing him.

Not that she took much time over it. All he had to do was run his hand down her body to have her rucking desperately at his clothes, needing him naked beneath her. Once her mission was accomplished—with much fumbling and swearing as they struggled in vain to get his bottoms out of the way—he pushed her backwards. She fell on to the mattress beside him with a most undignified thump.

"My turn," he growled, and she shivered all over at the gleam in his eyes. It appeared that she was in for a very good time.

Kisses were exchanged, open-mouthed and coaxing. Her clothes were dispatched with the same clumsy effiency that his own had been. She gasped and sighed as he teased her body, feeling the warm currents crackling all over her, reciprocating and relishing his own sounds of pleasure as he submitted to what her hands could do—

Echoing from downstairs, there was a series of knocks on the front door.

"Ignore it," John breathed, pulling her in for another long kiss. She was on the brink of losing herself once more, but the pounding on the door came again, and did not relent. She cursed, pushing him away.

"Who the hell is that?" she said. "You've not ordered any parcels that won't go through the door again, have you?"

"No," he said indignantly. "It's probably just Mr. Vokes. You know what he's like. The man's a nutter. Whoever it is will go away if we ignore them. They've got a bloody cheek, coming here at this time in the morning. We could have been fast asleep for all they know."

"Well, let's hope he hurries up and gets the hint," said Anna, letting out a ragged breath as John's hand moved to continue what it had been doing moment before.

"Mmm," he hummed against her, lowering his attentions to her neck. She tried to focus and enjoy his ministrations, but when the banging continued, accompanied now by muffled yelling and the slamming of their letterbox, it was impossible. With a huff, she worked a hand between them and pushed at his hairy chest.

"It's no good," she said. "I can't get in the mood with all that racket going off outside."

"Who the bloody hell _is_ it?" he said grumpily.

"You'd better go and see before we have the whole neighbourhood watching our doorstep."

"I think you'd be better for that job."

"Why me!?"

He gestured at the sheets that were bunched at his waist. "I'm hardly in the best state, am I?"

"Well, neither am I!"

"You're blessed enough to hide it, though. Whoever it is, I'm sure I would end up locked up for public indecency."

She smacked him with her pillow. "Any bloody excuse." But she knew he was right. Scowling, she snatched up the first piece of clothing she saw—John's dress shirt, which she'd _told_ him to put in the wash basket the previous night, the lazy arse—buttoned it up hastily, and hurried from the room. She snatched the keys from the hook on the wall and unlocked the door, fully ready to give their unwitting disturber a piece of her mind.

Robert barrelled past her. "Thank God! I've been knocking for ages! I didn't think you were in!" Obliviously, he pushed past her into the living room. Anna blinked in his wake.

"Where else would we be at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning?" she muttered sarcastically under her breath as she slammed the door shut behind him. "John!" she turned to holler up the stairs. "Your friend is here!" If there was a bite of impatience in her tone, well, it was only to be expected. Friend or not, she did not want their peace disturbing so early in the day. She stalked into the living room. John had better not bloody stall for long. If there was anything to dampen his ardour, it surely had to be the thought that she was irritated with him. Which was absurd, really. After all, it was hardly his fault that Robert had turned up at their door at an ungodly hour…

Still, it did her good to focus her frustrations on something more productive than the other kind of frustrations which she currently had.

Robert was standing in front of the fireplace when she entered. Taking a good look at him, she was rather surprised by the state of him. His hair was standing up every which way, and his eyes were popping slightly. If she was honest with herself, he looked rather like a mad professor.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked cautiously. "A cup of tea?" Or perhaps some kind of tranquiliser. He looked like he needed one.

"No," said Robert dramatically. "I couldn't stomach a sip even if I tried. My whole world has come crashing down around me, and no amount of tea will fix that."

God, that sounded serious. Backing up slightly, Anna hollered again, _"John!"_ Honestly, where was he when she needed him? She couldn't cope with Robert on her own like this.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he yelled back, sounding as irritated as she did. Well, that was all she needed, for them to have a blazing row once they'd bundled Robert out of the door. This was supposed to be a lovely _romantic_ weekend. How could it ever be that if they were going to be cross with one another? She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm.

John came crashing down the stairs in the next moment, dressed in nothing but his boxers and looking distinctly unimpressed. However, he stopped short when he caught sight of Robert. Clearly he was having the same thoughts that she had had moments before.

"Rob?" he said cautiously. "What's wrong? It's not Cora, is it? Your mother? One of the girls?"

"No," he moaned. "No."

Anna and John exchanged baffled glances.

"Then what?" John prompted. "Talk to me, Rob."

Robert slumped down on their sofa, his head in his hands. "It's Isis."

"Isis?" said John, sounding concerned; Anna knew that as much as John had complained about the dog in the time they had known each other, he had a very real soft spot for her. "She's all right, isn't she?"

Robert's voice was just about discernible through his hands. "I don't know where to start."

"How about at the beginning?" said John, moving to take the seat beside his friend. Anna mirrored him, taking a seat in the overstuffed armchair, chewing at her lip. Never mind the two men, Isis held a dear place in her own heart too. She attributed a lot of their happiness to the dog who had helped to keep them together at the beginning of their friendship.

"She's been out of sorts lately," said Robert. "She's been off her food and very lethargic and I was getting worried about her."

"Why didn't you tell me?" said John. "You should have said something. It's not right that you had to put up with all that worry on your own. I know how much she means to you."

Robert shrugged helplessly. "I just…I can't explain it. Isis is _my_ dog, after all. We're always together and I wanted that burden to be on me and not on anyone else. Anyway, I took her to the emergency vets because I thought she might…that she might have cancer or something."

"Christ," said John. No matter where it struck, cancer always left such devastation behind. Anna could only imagine Robert's grief if anything like that should come to pass. He loved Isis so very dearly, and she knew that he would struggle without her. And there was often so little that could be done in those situations apart from saying goodbye to those that were loved the most.

"What did they say?" she urged. "She hasn't got cancer, has she?"

Numbly, Robert shook his head. "No…God, I don't even know how to announce it."

"Well, you'd better find a way," said John. "I don't like being kept in suspense."

"Well, the vet gave her a very thorough check up and discovered that it isn't cancer at all. She's pregnant."

For a moment, there was stupefied silence. Anna found John's eyes. Well, _that_ had been unexpected.

"I see," said John. "Well, that's a turn-up for the books."

"I know!" said Robert. "It's unbelievable. I don't know whether to feel more relieved that she's going to be all right or furious that _this_ is the bloody answer!"

"I take it you weren't planning for it," Anna ventured.

"You're bloody right about that!"

"Well, I told you to get her spayed when she was old enough," said John. "But as usual, you didn't want to listen to the voice of reason."

"Voice of reason, my arse. Resident spirit-damper is what you are. Besides, you know that I didn't get her spayed because I wasn't entirely sure that I _wasn't_ going to breed with her one day."

"So who's the lucky fella?" John snickered, looking rather more amused than the situation warranted.

"That's the problem! It could be any dog in the area! There's a Border Collie that lives just over the way on the Drew's farm, and the Skeltons own a German Shepherd. The Bakewells own a Pitbull. And the Wigans have a Boxer."

"She's had her pick, then," John snorted. Anna rolled her eyes.

"What are you going to do when the pups arrive?" she asked.

"I suppose I'll sell them," Robert said gloomily. "But it's a bloody business. Isis is one hundred percent pure Labrador. She's been bred down generations of impeccable genes. If I _had_ decided to breed her, I wanted her to have the very best, the kind that Crufts would approve of."

"She could still have that," said Anna.

"Oh, no, she couldn't. It's all over. No respectable Labrador owner would want their dog to breed with one that's already had mongrel pups. I've blown my chance."

"Well, you should have kept a better eye on her," said John unsympathetically. "You know what she's like, a bloody nightmare."

"How was I to know that she'd get out? Hell, I don't even know how she escaped! There must have been a hole in the fence or something. She was back before I'd even noticed anything."

"A fast worker." John snickered again, and Anna glared at him. Honestly, he could be so immature sometimes.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of people who'd snap up the puppies," she said kindly. "Most people aren't snobbish like that. Puppies are too cute."

"I suppose you're right," sighed Robert. "And I'm glad it's not anything much more serious, but even so."

"I just can't believe you thought you should come around to tell us this at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning," said John. "You could have called later, mate."

"Well, it was so overwhelming and I didn't know what else to—oh." Robert's eyes widened, as if everything was finally clicking into place. He gave them both a quick once over, and he turned red. "Right. Yes. I can see that I'm disturbing something."

"Not at all," said Anna, feeling more charitable now.

"She's lying," John overrode promptly.

Robert glowered at him. "You know, the least you could do is be more supportive at this traumatic time."

"And I would have been under other circumstances."

"Charming. And here I was, about to offer you one of Isis' puppies."

"You were going to offer us a puppy?" Anna said, surprised.

"Hang on, what happened to them being mongrel cast-offs?" said John.

"Well, I thought a vagabond like you might appreciate a crossbreed. You already have that godawful cat."

"Leave Bandit out of this," said John. "He's a very regal moggy. Besides, the only reason you don't like him is because he scratched you."

"Scratched me? He bloody attacked me!"

"You stood on his tail!"

"Boys, boys," said Anna exasperatedly. "Now is not the time. What were you saying, Robert?"

Robert cleared his throat, turning away from John. "Right, yes. I won't be keeping Isis' puppies when they come, obviously, but I want them to go to people who I know and trust to look after them. You and John always do a cracking job of looking after Isis when we go on holiday, and I know that as much as John complains about her, he's got a soft spot for her. So I think, as long as you wanted one, you'd be brilliant with one. I thought I'd give you a heads up now so that you've got plenty of time to think about it."

"Well, it's a very kind offer," said Anna. "And we'll give it some thought, I promise." And they would. They had never really considered having a dog of their own, content as they were with the easy independence of a cat, but this wasn't going to be just any puppy. This was going to be Isis' puppy. And puppies really were so very cute…

"So, is there anything else that we can help you with?" said John, heaving himself to his feet with a groan.

"No, I know when to take a hint," said Robert, following suit. "I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I arrived. Not that that is much of a mystery. You really ought to have put on some more clothes before coming down here. I really didn't want the image of your body in my mind. It'll put me off my food for the rest of the day."

John shrugged. "Don't be so melodramatic. We've seen more of each other than most people have."

"Is there something I should know about?" Anna raised her eyebrows at the pair.

Robert coughed. "No, absolutely not."

"The army," John explained. "Living in such close quarters with people for so long means that there isn't much that we don't know about each other, however much we might not want to."

"You were a lot fitter then. And less hairy."

"I really would rather not know," Anna interrupted.

"Of course. Well, I'll be off. I've got to go and let the rest of the family know the news. See you for dinner tomorrow?"

"You will," Anna confirmed, slipping her hand into John's as they followed Robert back to the front door. "Take care, Robert."

"Will do. See you tomorrow."

When the door had closed behind them, John whistled. "Isis, pregnant. Who saw that one coming?"

"Not me," Anna agreed.

"So, what do you think about the puppy?"

"I think that it's something that we have to have a discussion about. Later. I think there's something else that we need to discuss first."

"Hmm?" said John, letting her back him up against the hall wall as she ran her hands down his chest. "Like what?"

"Like what Robert was saying," she said, rising on her tiptoes so that her mouth was barely brushing his.

"You know that I was slimmer in those days. That isn't anything new to you." She knew that it was still sometimes a sore point, that he had put on so much weight after the life-changing injury. It had never bothered her at all. Part of the attraction for her _was_ the large, comforting bulk of him. He made her feel safe in ways that others never had before. Harry had been all hard lines and chiselled abs, keeping to a strict regime for his sport commitments both at university and afterwards for Sunday League. There hadn't been an ounce of fat on him, and Anna had tried to stay trim for him in return. Which was bloody stupid, really. Her body was her own, and if she fancied having a bar of chocolate then she jolly well would. John had never made her feel less than she was, and it was yet further proof that she had made one of the best decisions of her life to continue seeing him and finally convince him that they were worth fighting for.

"He said you were less hairy," she said, walking two fingers down his chest and looking up at him from under her lashes. "I'm having a difficult time believing that."

He cleared his throat. "He speaks the truth. I, um, never shaved my chest, but I did want to keep it a little bit tamer. So I would…trim it a bit."

She snorted. "Trim it?"

"I was young and vain and eager to be attractive to the ladies. I thought having a thick forest might put them off."

She would rather not think too much about a younger John Bates hoping to get lucky where he could, as seemed to be the prerogative of most young men. "And then what?"

"Laziness," he supplied. "I hit rock bottom and couldn't be bothered with most things, and there was no point after…well, after I split from Vera."

"You didn't do it for me," she pointed out.

"Believe me, I agonised for days before our first time. I had many sleepless nights worrying about it."

She could well believe it, and it did not sting. She knew that John had a lack of self-confidence and anxieties about himself as a person, and it did not surprise her that he had had those kinds of thoughts about her seeing his body for the first time. His knee had been a big part of that, scarred and mangled as it was, but she knew that it had also stretched beyond that to his physique as well. No doubt he had tortured himself with thoughts of the kind of movie-star bodies that she ought to have been running her hands over, and not the middle-aged flab of a man in his forties. She had been comfortable enough in her own skin, but even she had had her own small niggles. What if, what if, what if? She supposed those questions were always there the first time.

"But you have your answer now," she said.

He smirked at her, a boyish, wonderful thing. "I do. These days I don't shave because I know it turns you on."

She hummed in the back of her throat, rubbing slow circles into his non-existent pecs. "You're not wrong there. In fact, if you take me back to bed, you'll find out how much your hairy chest _does_ turn me on."

He wasted no time in taking her by the hand and dragging her back up the stairs. Giggling, she discarded his shirt on the way, and there were no more words for quite some time after.

* * *

When they were snuggled in a warm afterglow, however, they had the discussion that they'd promised themselves they'd have, and it was all decided in a surprisingly short amount of time. A dog would slot into their life with minimal fuss. John would be home during the day to take care of its needs, and whilst they certainly had hopes for marriage and children not so far in the future, there was plenty of love in their hearts and home for another pet. Bandit was a gentle thing and they could foresee no problems in introducing him to another animal. And, as John succinctly pointed out, they had each overcome bad circumstances in their lives. There was plenty of room for a ragged mongrel.

They gave Robert their decision the very next day. Their family would expand again, and they were both excited to meet their new addition.

* * *

The next sixty-three days crawled by. Robert gave them constant updates about the course of the pregnancy, and it seemed that Isis was doing well. It was in the middle of the night that they got the phone call to say that she had gone in to labour. Anna giggled as John groaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow. She rested her chin against his chest, squeezing him in her arms.

"Here we go," she said. "I feel a bit like an excited parent about to become a grandparent for the first time."

He chuckled. "I think we'll feel a little differently to that when that time ever comes." Their eyes met, and she ducked her head, feeling the hope hot in her heart. Yes, one day. There was nothing she wanted more than to build a family with this man. He would be the most magnificent of fathers, and she wanted to see him fulfil that role. She wanted dark-haired sons, strapping and strong, who looked just like him. And she wanted a girl, too, perhaps one who looked like her. John, she knew, was the opposite; his dream consisted of blonde-haired daughters who would beguile him with bright blue eyes. And whatever they got, they would love them fiercely and treasure them forever.

But for now, they were getting a dog.

Isis gave birth to five wriggling puppies, four boys and one girl. To Robert's horror, he discovered that there were, in fact, two fathers. The three boys were Boxadors. The little girl was black and white. The Drew's Border Collie was clearly the culprit there.

Anna fell instantly in love with the Borador, tiny and perfect.

"What do you think?" she asked John anyway, hoping that he would concur with her.

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, I've always said that I want to be surrounded by girls," he said. "This seems as good a time as any to start."

And so they made their decision.

Nine weeks later, Robert brought her round to their door. She had grown a lot in that time, rolly on her mother's milk, bright-eyed and happy. One look at that sweet face had Anna melting instantly.

"Aww, hello, my darling!" she cooed, reaching out eagerly to take her into her arms. The puppy yapped a little and set about licking her enthusiastically. Anna giggled, and John came up behind her, slipping one arm around her waist and moving his spare hand to pat the puppy on the head.

"Hello," he said softly. "You're a little beauty, aren't you?"

The puppy snuggled further into Anna's arms, already so content there. She would fit in perfectly.

Robert leaned against the doorframe, looking on fondly. "So do you have a name in mind already?"

They looked at each other, identical smiles splitting their faces. Over the last two years, they had perfected a shorthand between them that they could read at just a glance. They were of the same mind here too. They had not yet discussed a name, but there could only be one that was fitting for the little girl currently snuggled in their arms. There was one person, besides Isis and Robert, of course, who had made all of this possible.

"Ethel," they said together.

* * *

Ethel, of course, was none too pleased to discover that she had been the inspiration behind the name for the newest addition to their family.

"I can't believe you named your bloody dog after me!" she said grumpily as she sat at their kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea between her hands. Isis, here for the weekend whilst Robert and Cora were with friends, looked as happy as it was possible to be, reunited with her puppy. Her tail had barely stopped wagging from the moment that Robert had dropped her off. She still saw plenty of little Ethel, but Anna supposed that nothing could make up for _actually_ being there with her. They made an endearing sight together; Ethel was currently chewing on Isis' ears, squirming all over her back whilst the Labrador patiently bore it.

Anna smirked at her friend now. "What? It's fitting. We thought we'd name her after the person who brought us together in the first place. You should be honoured by that."

Ethel looked down at the puppy, a wriggling mass of black and white fur. "I should feel honoured to be named after something that licks itself and soils all over the floor?"

"She's getting better about that," said John. "And don't feel too hard done by. If she'd been a boy, she would have been called Robert. Robert was the one who talked me into having Isis for the week, after all."

"And if you hadn't spent the day you-know-whatting with Rory, we might not have been here today," said Anna. "So it really is all down to you."

"Oh, great," said Ethel, glowering at the puppy. "So not only does everyone know that the dog is named after me, they all get to hear the story why as well?"

"Don't be silly, of course not."

"John knows!"

"John knows because I trust him with everything. Besides, he's not an idiot. He could have worked out all of that in a second."

"If it helps, the more I've got to know about you, the more I've come to realise that the less I know about you, the better."

"Oh, thanks," Ethel said grumpily. "Way to make me feel better. If you'd really wanted to do something nice to commemorate me helping you meet, the least you could have done was name your first daughter after me."

Anna chose to ignore that particular jab. "It's only a bit of fun, Ethel. There's no need to take it to heart. I'm sorry if we've offended you. But it does suit her very nicely. She's full of beans and mischief."

Ethel sighed. "I suppose she _is_ very cute."

Ethel-the-dog whined at that, rolling on her back and exposing her pudgy little tummy to the room. Cute was definitely the right word. As much of a handful as she could be sometimes, one look at that face simply melted even the most righteous of angers. She had chewed through the television wire just last week, and no matter how livid they had both been, neither of them had had any real heart to scold her after looking down in to those sad, remorseful eyes. Even Bandit tolerated her far better than they'd thought he would. As feisty as he was, he seemed resigned to allowing Ethel to snuggle up beside him for company. They made an adorable sight.

The one thing they were currently struggling with was getting Ethel to stay quiet through the night. John had been adamant that she wouldn't be sleeping in their bedroom, and it was something that Anna agreed with, wanting them to be able to enjoy their private time without shifting the animals out first, but Ethel did not seem to like sleeping downstairs by herself. Her whining often kept them awake, and it made them grumpy. She was a persistent little thing, but they knew that if they broke even once, they would never get their wish again. In this, they had to tough her out and hope that she eventually got the message.

They'd figure it out. They always did.

"Anyway," said Ethel, pushing her empty teacup away. "I'd better get going. I'll see you in the morning for a run, right?"

"Oh," said Anna, coming back to herself. She glanced across at John. "I don't think so, no."

Ethel pouted. "Oh, don't start that again. We always go for a run! And it's not as if you need an excuse to see lover boy here anymore. You see him every single day!"

"It's not that…" she said. "I just…can't tomorrow. Sorry."

"Fine," Ethel sighed. "I can take a hint. But I bloody hope he makes it worth your while staying behind."

John went red. "She's not talking about that!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know how this goes. And I know how wily this one is. You forget that I'm the one who found out about the two of you first."

"I didn't tell you that I fancied him," Anna protested.

"Didn't need to. It was so obvious."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Look, I'll text you tomorrow, how does that sound? I just…I can't do tomorrow. Okay?"

"I said I get it," said Ethel, pushing her chair away from the table. "I'm not going to push you anymore. Though I really wish you'd just say that you don't want to come because you want to stop at home screwing your boyfriend's brains out."

"Ethel, stop it. I told you, it's not like that."

"Sure. Anyway, I'd better be going. I need to pick Charlie up from school. I'll see you soon, I hope."

Shaking her head, still feeling a little embarrassed, Anna followed her friend to the door and waved her off the stoop. When she'd closed the door behind her, she turned to find John leaning in the doorframe to the kitchen.

"You know, if you _did_ want to go running tomorrow, there's no reason you can't," he said. "I can take Ethel round the park whilst you do. And you know that there's nothing I enjoy more than you running by me in those sexy little shorts."

She rolled her eyes at that. "I ought to have seen that one coming."

"What? I'm allowed to say that now, aren't I? And believe me, I feel like the luckiest bloke alive seeing all those envious men glaring at me when you and I go home together. I know people wonder what the hell you're doing with me even now."

"Oh, hush."

He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. "You know I don't let it bother me anymore. Much, anyway."

"And so you shouldn't." She ducked her head. "Anyway, getting your mind back on track, Mr. Bates, I'm all right. I don't want to go running. Honestly."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"

She took him in, standing there like that, expression soft and filled with enquiry. He was her safe place. The home she had always longed for. She had so very much to be grateful to him for.

"Yes," she said softly. "I am."

* * *

It had been a nice, peaceful day. They did not always have the opportunity to enjoy those, and so John was determined to make the most of every single moment. They took care of a few things that had been neglected around the house, took a mug of tea out on the patio, cooked a leisurely meal together, and now found themselves in front of the television, catching up on some programs that they had recorded earlier in the week. It had been a lovely day.

And yet there was something niggling at John.

He couldn't say that Anna had been unhappy. But there was certainly a quiet thoughtfulness about her that was not usually present when they were together, as if she was mulling over something in her mind that he had not been made privy to. She had not been any less loving than usual, but years of expecting the worse did not acquit well to reassuring himself that everything was all right. At some points during the day, he had looked across at her and known that she was in a place where he could not reach her. The thought made him uneasy. Since those early days, when their whole bond had been based upon half-truths and technicalities, they had never kept a thing from each other. It had been so important to the both of them that they start this relationship with a clean slate, and it had never been any different since that day. They had experienced every high and low point together, and though he had once made the mistake of trying to push her away again when Vera had reared her ugly head, he had never kept her out of it, and she had refused to go, and they were stronger than ever because of it.

So what might have happened? His mind raced with all of the terrifying possibilities. He was almost afraid to find out.

But he had to know. And they had to face it together, like they always did.

The soaps were currently playing in the background. They did nothing to entertain John—each meaningless, over-the-top story melted into another across each program, each character a carbon copy of another on a different show, just with a different name—but Anna seemed to enjoy them. These days, he had a sneaking suspicion that she rather fancied one of the rugged men on there, and that was why she kept watching. The storytelling could hardly be a driving factor. She was captivated by it now, her head resting against his chest, her legs tucked up beneath her, her arms loose around his waist as she stared at the television. He decided that this moment was as good as any other to bring up the thoughts in his mind.

"Anna?"

"Mmm?" She did not look away from the television, where the landlady of the pub was screaming at someone to get out. Strangely, the bans never lasted.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can, silly beggar. What a thing to say!"

She did not seem any different in her responses. There was still the teasing edge to her voice. She had not lost any of her usual affection. Perhaps he was worrying over naught. Then again, he had learned the hard way that it was always best to express the feelings that were inside him, lest they poison him.

Catching a strand of her hair between his fingers, he idled with it a moment, trying to draw courage from the way it felt on his skin. "Is…is there something bothering you?"

He expected his words to be met with a derisive snort, a light scold that he worried too much over the slightest thing. He was not expecting her to fidget, as if she was hiding some guilty secret.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"You seem…different."

"Different how?" There was a definite edge to her voice now, a betrayal of nerves that an animal cornered by a predator might feel. He had to tread carefully now. He didn't want to scare her off.

"I just…you've been a bit quiet, is all," he said, rather lamely. "I haven't done anything to upset you, have I?"

She softened at that. "Oh, John, of course you haven't."

"But you'd tell me if I had?"

"I would. But you've done nothing, honestly."

"Then what is it? Please, Anna. Tell me."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing nervous patterns against his shirt whilst the characters on the soap continued to scream at each other. Then she leaned across for the remote and switched the television off, plunging them in to silence. Pushing up against his chest, she sighed, scooting backwards until she could wrap her arms around her knees. He gazed at her expectantly, watching as she chewed on her lip. He knew that she would get there in her own time, but it did not stop him from burning with curiosity. Aching with anxiety.

When she spoke, the words that issued from her mouth were not the ones that he was expecting, if he'd had any expectations at all. "How do you feel about children?"

He frowned at her. "Is that a trick question?"

She shook her head.

"You know how I feel about that." They'd discussed it, of course. Not at any real length, but they had always been on the same page. When they were settled, they would think about starting a family. Realistically, that would probably happen in the next couple of years, when he had screwed up the courage to ask her to marry him and they had had some time to enjoy married life together. It had never been referenced, but he knew that his age would work against them. Anna was still young and vibrant, but he was already in his forties. If he left it too much longer, he would not be in any fit state to be a father. He already knew that he would face prejudice and scorn and whispers when their child was seen out and about with them. The mere thought of it filled him with shame, but he would try his best to rise above it for the sake of his child. The child he had decided that he wanted rather desperately thanks to Anna. It was strange, how his perspective had shifted so much on the thought of parenthood since meeting her. He and Vera had never really wanted them. Indeed, to bring a child into such a toxic relationship would have been disastrous. He was glad that he had not yet had any.

"I just…I want to hear you say it again."

Her behaviour was mystifying. More than a little alarming. "Anna, what's this about?"

She held his gaze. There was something akin to…fear in there. It was ridiculous. Frightening in turn. "Please."

He had no idea what was going on. "Well, yes, of course I want children. We said that we'd have them in a few years, once we were married."

She picked at a loose piece of thread in her blouse. "And what…and what if those plans were to change?"

"How do you mean?" Anna talking in this cryptic manner was doing nothing for his health. If she carried on like this, he was sure to have an aneurism. Did she know something that he didn't? Were children…were children not a possibility for them after all? The knowledge would be a sucker punch, he couldn't deny it. But they would get through it. After all, she was the one he wanted first and foremost. Anything else would be a bonus, but she was the one that he loved. She was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. If that meant that they would not have children of their own flesh and blood…well, so be it. There were other ways. Adoption, for one thing. There was plenty of love in his heart for that, and he knew that Anna would make a wonderful mother no matter what. Or perhaps she had changed her mind on parenthood altogether. Children did not fit into everyone's life plans, and it did not mean that their life would be any less rich because of it.

Anna chewed at her lip for a moment more, before taking a deep breath. "I only found out yesterday."

"Found out what!?"

Finally, she looked at him, eyes brimming with a fragile exhilaration. "I'm pregnant."

The world stopped. He blinked at her, dumbfounded. "What?"

"I'm pregnant," she repeated, hands twisting together. "I missed my periods. I'm as regular as clockwork, John. I put it to one side but when it happened again…Well, I went to the chemist's and picked up a pregnancy test. It was positive. So I booked an appointment at the doctor's to get it confirmed. The test wasn't wrong. I'm definitely pregnant."

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come. He was not even sure that he had wrapped his brain around the concept yet. It was there right in front of him, that Anna was pregnant but it just would not sink in.

Anna, pregnant.

God.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she pleaded.

"I'm trying," he managed, his tongue thick in his mouth. "I just…wow."

She stared at him anxiously. He tried to form a coherent sentence in his head.

"When…?" he began.

She pinked. "I'm not sure, exactly. But the doctor says I'm about three months gone."

"But we've always been so careful."

"I know," she said helplessly. "But we both know that nothing is a hundred percent fool proof. We must have slipped up somewhere."

John didn't respond. His mind was reeling. It was the very last thing that he'd been expecting. It had never crossed his mind that their birth control would fail them.

"Say something," she said in a small voice.

"Well," he managed, "I suppose it explains why you don't want to go running with Ethel in the morning."

She was still brave enough to reach out and smack his arm. "Say something else. At least give me some sign of what you're feeling, whatever that might be."

"I, um…wow," he repeated. He might have crafted poetic descriptions for sport, but now, in this moment, all eloquence had abandoned him. The sheer unexpectedness of it all had knocked him for six. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. He was going to be a dad. _Christ_.

I'm sorry," Anna said at length.

That was enough to snap him out of his daze, his heart plummeting sickeningly. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for?"

She shrugged. "Well, it's not like we planned it, is it?"

"No," he conceded, "But don't you dare apologise for this. The last time I checked, it takes two people to create a baby. I'm pretty sure I'm as responsible for this as you are. Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"Don't be an arse."

"Right. A joke made in bad taste, I get it." He really had to work on his comic timing. It just seemed that whenever anything remotely monumental happened, his automatic response was to behave like an idiot.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

 _That_ was enough to snap him out of it completely. "What?" He sat up, moving forward to grab her hand. She still wasn't meeting his eyes. "Anna, look at me."

She glanced up, from under her lashes. He could read the miasma of emotions in her eyes, hope and resignation battling for supremacy. He held her gaze, hoping that she could feel the magnitude of his words.

"We are going to have this baby, of course," he said firmly.

"But—"

"There could never be any 'buts', Anna, not when it comes to a baby of ours." The thought of anything else was sickening. He respected anyone who had to make different decisions for the good of everyone, but that was not who they were. They had everything they could possibly hope to offer a child. A home. Steady incomes. Two parents who wanted to be fully involved. More than enough love to go around. It was the perfect set up.

Well, almost perfect, anyway.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms to her. She went to him willingly, and he encouraged her to turn so that she was sitting with her back pressed to his chest. Tentatively, he brought his hand round to touch the tiny swell of her stomach, resting his palm over her. At the gesture, all the tension seemed to wilt out of her body, and she sighed as she leaned her head back against him.

"So, you found out yesterday?" he asked.

Anna nodded sheepishly. "I wanted to tell you straight away, but…well, I suppose I was still trying to get my head around it myself, and I wanted the chance to mull things over."

He had the distinct feeling that she probably wouldn't have told him today, either, if Ethel hadn't asked her about the run and sent her tail spinning back into her own contemplations. Still, he _did_ know now, and that was all that mattered.

He moved his thumb over her stomach. "I can't even tell that you're three months gone."

"You won't, not for a while. And the doctor says that first babies can be very small, so there might not even be a bump for long time. I, um, I've looked at myself in the mirror quite a few times since I found out, and even I'm struggling to see it, even though I know it's there."

"And the scans. Are you…?"

She nodded. "I got those sorted out yesterday."

So in a few weeks they could know the sex of their baby. He'd know whether he was going to be a proud father to a strapping son or a rambunctious daughter. Either way, he knew he was done for. Any child of theirs would have him wrapped around their tiny little fingers the moment that they were born. Hell, he felt that way now, and he'd only known about their presence for a few minutes.

Anna moved her hand atop his, her fingers drumming against the back of his hand in an idle, nervous pattern. She seemed braver now that she couldn't see his face. "So, how do you feel about this? Really?"

"It's not how we planned it," he admitted. He could be honest with her on that score. "But I'm ecstatic."

"Do you really mean that?"

"With all my heart," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her ear. "If I could jump for joy, I would. I've always wanted children with you. That hasn't changed just because our timing is a little off."

"We agreed that we wanted to be settled before we started a family."

"It doesn't mean we can't be. We can still have the same last name before the baby arrives."

"Is that a proposal?"

"If that's what you want to call it." He snorted. "I'd hoped that when the time _did_ come to propose, I could have done a better job of it than that."

She turned just slightly, a smile curling her lip. "So you're admitting that you've thought about proposing?"

He might as well go all in now. Anna needed all the reassurances she could get right now, and he wanted to give that to her. "I've thought about it a hundred times. They were all far more romantic than that."

She giggled. "I don't mind. It's not like we've always done things the conventional way, is it?"

"Well, I promise to propose to you properly before we get married."

"We won't have much time to prepare before the baby arrives."

"Well, we've always talked about a small wedding," he said softly. "It's hardly the big white one that I wanted to give you, but the registry office usually has spaces available."

She giggled. "Oh, yes, the guilty alternative to the church, when men would take their girlfriends there to make honest women of them before the world realised the societal rules they had broken."

"That's a very cynical outlook," he exclaimed. "Especially coming from you. You're usually the advocate of everything romantic. I bet lots of people married for love in the registry offices a hundred years ago."

"You're right," she said. "I'm just thinking of the hell we're going to get from our friends. 'Shotgun wedding' is going to follow us around for the rest of our lives."

"It could be worse," he murmured, kissing her neck. "I could have been known for pining my life away after a woman I could never hope to impress. It's how I felt things would go before you forced us to speak honestly with each other. I thought I would watch from afar as you fell in love with your mystery man and lived your Happily Ever After."

"Silly beggar," she scolded, but there was a thread of eagerness in her voice now. "So you really mean it? We're going to get married and have this baby?"

"If that's what you want," he said. "And I'm not talking about the baby, I'm talking about the marriage. We can hold off on that if you'd prefer, for another time. There are plenty of couples out there who have children and aren't married. It's not that important."

But Anna shook her head. "No, I want it. I've always wanted us to be a proper united family when a baby comes along. I don't want to be the only Smith in a family of Bateses."

"You'd always be part of our family," he protested.

"I know. But I want it to be official. I want to have your surname when the baby arrives."

"Then it looks like our decision is made," he said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. "We're going to get married."

"We are," she echoed, mirroring his smile. "Sooner rather than later, I hope. I'd rather not be the size of a house at the end of the aisle."

"You'd still be the most beautiful woman in the whole world."

"The time for charming me is long past, John Bates. You've done that job admirably." She patted her stomach pointedly, and he felt the heat rise in his face even as he couldn't stop his smile.

"Well, I don't suppose it hurts to compliment the mother of my child who has made me the happiest man alive," he said. Even now, repeating those words yet again, he still couldn't get his head around it. He was going to be a father. He was having a child with Anna.

It hadn't turned out exactly as he'd planned, it was true. But that did not mean that they couldn't get it to work superbly. In fact, he knew they could. If there was one thing he'd learnt whilst being with Anna, it was that nothing was impossible. As long as they believed in it together, they could achieve anything. Pressing a kiss to her hair, he whispered in her ear, "I love you, Anna May Smith. So very, very much."

"That's lucky," she replied, a tinge of sleepiness in her voice. He supposed that finally confessing what had been bothering her over the last day had lifted a huge weight from her shoulders, one that was now giving her the peace of mind to relax. "I love you too."

He squeezed her tighter in the circle of his arms and they lapsed into silence. John was more than content to let that happen. A happiness he had not known could even exist was expanding across his chest, warming him to the core. He had always dreamed that one day this would happen with Anna, and it was coming true in the most delightfully unexpected way. If his calculations were correct, early in January they would have a little bundle of joy all of their own.

His eyes drifted towards the fire, which was the only source of light on this unseasonably cold summer evening. As if sensing his gaze, Isis lifted her head up from her paws. She had been lying there unusually quietly, Ethel and Bandit snuggled up to her side, but she fixed him with a knowing look now. John huffed, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he rolled his eyes. Isis had been a thorn in his side over the past two and a half years, but he couldn't deny that he'd grown rather a soft spot for her now. And, as much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he _loathed_ that Robert would never let him live it down, she had proven pivotal in his relationship with Anna. If she hadn't knocked Anna down that day in the park, he never would have gathered the courage to speak to her. Even if they _had_ met each other through the Crawleys—which was likely, given the circles that they each moved in—he knew that it would never have moved beyond a casual acquaintance. He would have nodded politely at her from across the room, or engaged in small talk that was agonising, and then slunk off at the end of the night, as alone as he had ever been.

And now here they were, ready to embark on the next chapter of their adventure together. It was almost beyond his comprehension.

Isis blinked at him. _You're welcome_ , she seemed to be saying. Then she yawned widely and put her head back on her paws, her eyes drifting closed, content to let the warmth of the fire wash over her and lull her to sleep as Ethel snuffled and twitched beside her. John squeezed Anna tighter in the circle of his arms—his own tightknit family, his own world right there—and decided that it was a rather good idea. Anna sighed and snuggled her head further into his chest, and he pressed his lips to her temple once more as he closed his eyes and sank into the quiet, Anna's even breathing and the cracks of the gas fire the only sounds that pervaded the air.

 _Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen_ , Orhan Pamuk had written. He remembered reading it, and snorting, thinking of Robert and his Labs. But now…now he understood. Isis had spent months trying to make him listen to what she had instinctively known. For a long time he had resisted the inevitable. But now…now he knew paradise, and it was all down to her.

"Thank you," he mouthed in her direction, not wanting Anna to think that he was losing the plot, and though it was dark, he could have sworn that Isis was smiling at him, accepting the praise that was so deservedly hers.

She was a good girl after all.


End file.
